


To Galaxy's End

by thebananahasspoken



Category: Treasure Planet (2002), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Character Death, Crossover, Drinking, F/F, F/M, Fighting, Frans - Freeform, M/M, Pirates, Smoking, Treasure Hunt, Treasure Planet - Freeform, pirate frans, space questing, space romance, treasuretale, undertale - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-04 07:19:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12164136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebananahasspoken/pseuds/thebananahasspoken
Summary: Frisk, at the edge of the table, finally jerked the lock open on the chest and tossed the padlock to the floor, standing and throwing the top of the chest open....it was empty.No, no, not empty. There, in the very corner, was a dirty little round object, about the size of a large apple, covered in canvas and tied awkwardly with twine. She reached out to pick it up, and beside her, Doggo groaned, reaching for it like it was his saving grace, all he lived for. He certainly seemed to be dying for it.His paws cradled the orb gently before he looked to Frisk.“Take it. Hide it, use it, I don’t care... but you can’t let him find it. Ya can’t let him have it! He’s coming, sure as the stars and quick as a cursed breeze... you hafta go...”“What is that? Who’s coming?”One of his paws flashed out to bunch in the neckline of her tank top, jerking her forward until she was nose to nose with him.“A monster that has killed hundreds for this, and will kill again. I’m... aahhh... I’m sorry for the burden... but it must be kept from him. Remember... trust no one... especially not the Scourge... the... skele... ton...”





	1. The Clearest of Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm glad you found your way to my self-indulgent little crossover piece for Undertale and Treasure Planet! I'm obsessed with it right now, so here it is... for your faces <3

* * *

"On the clearest of nights, the universe breathed, stardust and fair winds, as though a living creature itself. The aether moved, seeing all and none. The stars glittered like so many jewels, such splendorous metals, much like the cargo of the mighty merchant ships astride the push and pull of the galaxies’ magicks, their whim and pleasure. Such ships, delivering the riches of their royalty and grandeur, felt at ease in the calm grasp of the heavenly sea, and their passengers danced under glowing stones, captured fire, laughing and drinking and making merry.

It was to their detriment. They could not know that they were hunted, prey to the most infamous of all the galactic rogues… Captain Fontaine von Gast.

A pirate of prestige, incredible cruelty, and, most notably, unsolvable mystery, von Gast showed no mercy as he descended upon his hapless, helpless victims-”

“…Frisk, for the stars’ sake, it’s past _midnight_.”

The small human girl, brown hair in loose pigtails and chocolate eyes wide in shock, shut off the screen of her mobile phone and hid it beneath the tattered quilt over her bedcovers, looking guiltily but pleadingly up at her caretaker, a tall, well dressed, but weary looking flame elemental that had just thrown open the door to her bedroom.

The golden glow of his flaming body threw odd shadows across the dingy but tidy room, small, handmade mechanisms set on shelves and piles of oily gears on dressers full of prim, untouched dresses and worn, patched trousers. 

Grillby’s bow tie hung loosely around his neck, a damp rag thrown over his wide shoulder, and his glasses glinted in the low light from the hallway behind him. His arms folded across his chest, and an orange, fiery brow raised over the frames of his spectacles.

“…Don’t give me that look. You have school in the morning.”

Frisk pouted, fiddling with her phone, before smiling up at him sunnily, the way that always got her everything she wanted. One of her front teeth was missing.

“Please, ‘ncle Grillby? I was just getting to the best part… it’ll be over soon….”

The fire monster held firm one more moment, stony and impassive, before sighing, a waft of soft sparks dancing on his exhalation, and slumping into the room in defeat, seating himself on the edge of the excitedly squirming girl’s bed. She hugged his arm his rolled up, wrinkled shirt sleeve, bouncing and thanking him four times in a row, before pulling the phone back out and unlocking the screen, jumping into Grillby’s lap as he settled himself.

He chuckled, righting the skirt of her cotton nightgown, and took the phone into his own hands to restart the hologram she had been viewing. He gave her a harmlessly severe look before he did though, as cross as he could get in the face of his beloved charge.

“…You could talk a rock monster into moving with those eyes. But this is the last one, Frisk. Promise?”

Frisk nodded several times, snuggling against his warm chest, and he bent to press a kiss to the top of her head before starting the video, a wide panorama of a far-off nebula and a merchant vessel aflame; the voice of the narrator warped for a moment, back-tracking to where he was paused, before going on.

“-von Gast showed no mercy as he descended upon his hapless, helpless victims, slaughtering and pillaging and plundering to his soul’s content. And once he had incapacitated his enemy, he took his spoils, boarded his ship… and disappeared, without a trace.”

Frisk gasped exaggeratedly, as she had seen this video many times, and Grillby joined her, his smile small but doting.

“Where von Gast hid the treasures he stole from innumerable peoples, from worlds beyond measure, was never discovered. Over two hundred years have passed since his supposed death, and only legends survive to tell the tale of this most dastardly and immeasurably wealthy of scourges. Legends that tell of a hidden trove, past the furthest star and beyond the fancies of the wildest dreamer… the wealth of a thousand spent kingdoms.”

“Treasure planet…” Frisk whispered, in time with the narrator, before Grillby, with a tiny, hidden shake of his head and crooked smile, shut off the video, setting it on the girl’s rough-hewn bedside table and standing with a quiet groan.

“…Alright, alright. That’s enough of that. Even little space explorers need sleep.”

Frisk heaved a happy sigh, flopping back on top of her bedclothes and staring dreamily at the shadows dancing on the ceiling.

“How do you think he did it, Grillby? Von Gast. How did he just appear out of nowhere, with a ship and crew and everything, and then just… poof? Gone, with millions of gold pieces?”

Grillby rolled his glowing eyes out of her line of sight, pulling the sheets from under her to tuck her in but giving the human girl a tiny, indulgent smile, ticking a gloved finger under her chin with a chuckle.

“…I truly have no idea, Frisk.”

She giggled as he tickled her gently, hiding her face and squirming, before peeking at him through her fingers, eyes sparkling with imagination and excitement.

“Do you think it’s out there still? The treasure? The planet he was supposed to have built?”

Grillby’s smile became patient, tucking the quilt around her and patting the wrinkles out fussily.

“…I believe it is something more of a legend than a fact, my dear. Come, come, sleep… you promised your mother you’d get your rest. We don’t break promises… especially not to the fallen.”

Frisk sobered, drawing her sheets to her nose and lowering her eyes. They welled with tears for a moment, far away and sad, before she rallied, wiping her tears away and smiling with incredible determination.

“I will, Grillby. But I’m gonna find that treasure someday. I know it’s real, and when I find it, I’m gonna give it all to you. Then you won’t have to scrape by. That’s a promise too.”

Grillby’s patient smile cracked, touched sadness and understanding alighting on his soul. His flames dimmed, and he bent to push a kiss to the human child’s forehead, brushing her hair aside softly.

“…I can hardly argue with that. Very well, Frisk. You win… it is real.”

Frisk carefully wound her arms around his neck, fond and raw, before snuggling up against her pillow, shutting her eyes and smiling.

“Night night, ‘Bee. I love you.”

The flame elemental flickered, his flames turning a tender, light red, and stood to cross the room, hand on the knob of the door and gaze fond.

“…Good night, my dear. I love you as well.”

As the door shut, soft steps disappeared down the hallway, and the room fell into darkness, a series of shuffles and rustles sounded before a flash of light, the screen of a mobile phone, lit beneath the bedcovers. The muffled voice of the narrator again filled the room and the ears of the dreaming, determined child clinging to legends long passed.

“It is believed that the treasure will be found one day… but not by scientists, nor those that seek it for fortune. It will be by a spirit full of intrepid vigor, the daring to dream… and a soul meant to soar on the wide wings of adventure.”


	2. A Change in the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The call to adventure has never been stronger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, showing off all the fantastic pieces of fan art shown to me!  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

* * *

“ Monster loving  _ freak _ .”

*clang*

“Your mechanical expertise is very impressive, but we are not interested in accepting apprentices of your... familial attachment.”

*clang*

“You barely come to classes anymore. When you do, you sleep or cause fights. Your grades are abysmal. It’s clear you don’t care, and are just wasting our teachers’ time. You might as well just drop out... no one expects any more from you, and it’s not like you’ll graduate anyway.”

*clang*

“...You are so smart, Frisk, so talented. I don’t understand why you don’t try harder, why you keep acting out. ...Young lady, don’t walk away while-”

*clang*

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Are you going to spend a single weekend _not_ in the holding cell, kid? Guess it’s almost home by now. C’mon, hands behind your back. You know the drill.”

*clang*

“Keep your head down. You were born a loser, raised by filth, and will die like trash with your precious monsters.”

*CLANG*

The last stone bounced off the tin roofing harder than the rest, leaving behind a dent in the metallic, misty shingles, and Frisk, now empty-handed, dropped her head back against the side of the loft she was propped against. The reverberations of laughter rom within the bar and electricity from the house and the storm rolling over the sea lapping at the edge of the pier tingled through her body, but she paid them no mind, shutting her eyes and ignoring the first spare drops of rain dotting her leather jacket, her ripped trousers, the toes of her scuffed boots.

She couldn’t go back inside yet. Not after this afternoon. Not after she’d walked out on Grillby.

Again.

She could still see the disappointment in her haggard, worried caretaker’s gaze. She would have preferred anger. She would have preferred if he yelled, even once. But no, he had only paid her bail again, walked her back to the coach, and driven her home. He didn’t even ask what she had done this time.

Good old Grillby.

He always took her back, regardless of the state she was in. Always had a job waiting, and a room ready, no matter how long she’d been pretending she didn’t need him. Each time, she was more ashamed. He probably assumed it was because of him. No...

No.

It was all on her. She was a wreck, a mess of a person. Worthless as everyone had always told her she’d be. Couldn’t hold down a job. Couldn’t stay off the street, out of fights... out of jail cells.

And he just looked at her from behind his old, cracked glasses, and sighed, and let his shoulders droop.

“...You are so much better than this, Frisk. I know you are.”

He was wrong. She was... nothing. Certainly not worth his worry, or his time. She was only going to let him down again. Only going to put his already trouble filled life and business in more danger.

Frisk sighed, banging her head against the siding of the second story and grimacing.

She didn’t want to do this to him anymore. Grillby was the closest thing to a father, a  _ family _ , she’d ever had. Her father had died voyaging out past Sirius, a tragic computing error in the middle of an asteroid field. Her mother had gone soon after, the victim of a slow, mind-addling disease.

Grillby had taken her in the moment her mother had breathed her last. They had been good friends, he and her family. He had always been so generous. So kind and patient, even to those who saw him as an animal. He had supported her from the start. Always praising the stupid little machines she built. Buying all the scrap they could afford so she could tinker. Neglecting himself so she could have that stupid hoverboard.

He loved her, and she loved him. So very much. So much that she couldn’t bear this, letting him down, much longer.

She needed to clean up. Make something of herself. But what? The depression sank deeper each year. She could stay, help him with the business... but he always started pushing college brochures at her when she stayed too long. He thought so much of her... had always said she was meant for greater things.

She wasn’t. Trying had only ever gotten her smacked down. Showed her just how smart she  _ wasn’t _ .

Thunder rumbled much nearer, in the wake of a fork of lightning lighting up the night-shrouded, cloud-strewn sky, and the rain was falling far more steadily, tapping in soothing, random patterns across the roofing. Her jacket repelled the water, but her tank top did not, and her bangs hung in limp strands across her weary, clenched eyelids, the braid slung over her shoulder saturated and sticking to her neck.

She was almost tempted to beg the storm to take her. No one but Grillz would miss her, not really... and that way, he wouldn’t even have to pay for a funeral. A blessing in dis-

* _** BOOM ** _ *

Frisk was jolted from her depreciative thoughts by a crashing roar that was most definitively not part of the coming storm, screeching metal and crunching wood piercing the windswept, rain-soaked night. She jerked upright, swiping her hair from her wide, alarmed eyes, and cast about for the source of the cacophonous noise.

It didn’t take much searching to find the smoking, hulking carcass of the wrecked solar sailer at the end of the pier, or for her to slide down the slope of the roof to land, awkward and sore, in a forming puddle on the walkway around Grillby’s home and bar, scrambling again to her feet to rush to the aid of anyone that may have survived the crash.

Live wires danced around in the wreckage and the mist from the rolling waves, steam and acidic fumes leaking from the damaged hull of the craft, and Frisk, eyes watering, held the scuffed sleeve of her jacket over her mouth and nose as she reached the impact site, the wood of the damaged pier creaking underfoot. A minute combustion rocked its melting carapace, releasing a burst of flame and startling a yelp from the approaching human girl.

Squinting and ducking her head under a torn, drooping sail, the fiberoptics of the solar panels shredded and exposed to the rain, Frisk shoved her long braid over her shoulder and cast about for signs of life, coughing and blinking away tears and rain both.

“Hey! Is anyone there? Call out, I’ll find you!” she wheezed, jumping agilely out of the way when the main mast of the vessel swung free of the ship and rolled to the deck of the pier, then perked when she heard, near the stern of the modest sailer, a croaking cough not much unlike her own, choked with smoke and likely injury.

She leaped into action immediately, vaulting the crooked railing and struggling through a web of melting ropes and destroyed deck to find, draped dramatically over the wheel of the vessel and dripping rivers of blue-tinted blood, a black and white mottled dog monster, garbed in a patched, sooty overcoat and a Laffitte style cap. One of his fangs was gold, misted with his own blood and drool, and over one eye was secured an eyepatch.

She knew what he was just from looking at him, saying nothing of the state of his ship, nor the small, grimy chest he was clutching tightly in one paw, as though determined to never let it go.

_** Pirate ** _ .

She’d always wanted to see a pirate, the free, adventurous, mutably villainous rogues of the sea and sky. The actors at the fair were nothing like the real sort, and Grillby had never allowed her out on the serving floor when the bawdy scoundrels would come in from deep space, roaring with laughter and tossing gold about like it was  _ nothing _ .

She’d have tried her hand at it herself if she hadn’t thought it would truly, once and for all break Grillby’s heart. That, and the risk of being caught and hung was too high for her liking.

She wondered, briefly, what sort of bounty this one had on his head before pushing it from her mind, rushing to his side, and slipping an arm under his and around his back, struggling to shift his weight off the wheel so she could either wake him, or drag him away from the wreck. She assumed he was out cold, as upon her approach, he had seemed nearly catatonic, whimpering under his breath and flinching when the wind whipped at him.

The moment she touched him, though, he whirled on her with a snarl, his single eye crazed and bloodshot and his maw foaming.

“Off, human! Away from me an- aarrrgh!” he howled, clutching his side in his exuberance and injury, and Frisk, taking a wary but small step backwards, looked with concern to the sopping wet length of his leather overcoat. She couldn’t tell what was rain, what was fuel, and what was blood.

“You’re injured. Let me help you, there’s a bar close. We can get you healed and out of the rain there.”

The dog monster was shaking its head while she was speaking though, whimpering under his breath and searching the darkened sky with his one negligibly good eye. He staggered again against the wheel in what looked to be a bout of dizziness, yelping in pain again and yet, through it all, not once releasing the small, extremely well-locked chest in his grasp. It swung heavily against the shattered railing, and something within it thumped against the side.

“No time, girl, no time! Hrrk... He’ll be comin’ soon, if he ain’t here already. Have ya seen him? Have you?! The skeleton mercenary, the soulless scourge of the skies, magic like icy death and gaze as consuming as the Void itself!?” he demanded, choking on a cough that sprayed the damp wood of the wheel with blue foam, and Frisk, supremely confused, looked around the crashed ship in apprehensive dismay.

A... skeleton? Was that a type of monster? Or was he just concussed?

“Pretty sure there’s no one here but me. You must’ve... uh. Knocked yourself around real good in the crash. Here, come on. I’ll help you up.”

Again she offered her hand, and this time, with a ragged, raspy splutter, the dog monster complied, reaching tremulously out to take her hand and heave himself up enough to stagger to her side. His tail dropped, wet and sad, between his bared back paws, and his turn revealed yet more of his clothing, a ratty pink tank printed with stars and a red, spiked collar, tagged with a skull and crossbones charm.

A little melodramatic, but okay.

“He’ll definitely be comin’, then. Damned wretch has been after my head for keeps, after I found the way... and he’s gettin’ more and more desperate, the old sack of bones. But if he thinks this little detour will kill Doggo, he’s got another thing comin’! He... He’ll hafta fetch this chest from my damned dust before I let him take it!”

He practically threw himself over her shoulders, hacking and wheezing and shaking like the last leaf in autumn, and Frisk staggered, barely catching herself in time to heave him upright. He reeked of smoke, wood and dog treat both, of alcohol and sex and back alleys, of the stars themselves, from his sail through space... and something she hesitated to call death.

She held back a retch, and drug him off the flaming wreckage of his ship and onto the pier, the heavy chest dragging behind them. What he was saying, as they limped along, made near to no sense, ravings about a skeleton come to steal a map and whispers of urgent questing interspersed with ragged, bloody coughs, but she dragged him back up the path and to Grillby’s bar with stubborn dedication despite his rantings and his stench and the illegality of helping a  _ pirate _ , of all things.

She couldn’t leave someone in need of help without it, no matter how crazy they were, or what colors they sailed beneath.

Frisk nearly dropped the dead weight of the dog monster on the doormat, thanking the stars for the heavy downpour that had driven her adoptive father’s customers away as she struggled to tug the door open wide enough to grant the both of them admittance to the bar.

No one would be around to see them helping a surely wanted monster.

She finally managed to get a good grip on the door handle on her third try, panting and staggering and slipping on the shiny wood of the bar floor, and from where he had been slumped on one of the tall barstools, Grillby shot to his feet, crackling in alarm and panic.

“...Frisk, what in the great stars above?! Who is this? What happened?” he demanded in a rush, striding across the bar to help her drag the whimpering monster to one of the tables, and Frisk, clawing her bangs from her eyes and ignoring the trail of both mud and blood they had spattered over the floor, looked up at the flame elemental pleadingly, shouldering the rasping dog into the tabletop.

The chest the pirate held clattered against one of the chairs as he pulled it up beside him, his one eye wide but filmed with clouded awareness, his gaze far away. The table beneath him darkened quickly with rainwater and steaming life essence, magic fizzling into nothing.

“He’s hurt, Grillby, really, really bad. He crashed out on the pier, and... I think he’s been in a battle. He needs a healer, and quick,” she muttered, pulling at the dog monster’s overcoat to try to locate his wound, but a shaking, scarred paw laid over her hand, his other scratching at the lid of the chest he clutched obsessively.

His saturated torso was heaving, and rattled ominously as he struggled for breath.

“ No... time. Please... open it, girl. The lock... hnng... two, four... seven, two, four... seven, nine...  _ quickly _ ...”

Frisk scrambled to obey, blood pumping and ears full of a rushing she could only blame on adrenaline, while Grillby, at a loss of what to do, looked down on the panting monster with pity in his flaming gaze.

“...I don’t think there is much we can do, Frisk... his magic is failing. He’s falling, there’s no time...” he mourned, and at that moment, startling both the human and the fire monster in one, the door to the interior bathrooms swung open with a bang, a diminutive, bespectacled lizard monster leaping from within with gusto and apparent joyful enthusiasm.

“Grillby, I-I think I have a solution to your problems! I was reading a m-magazine while washing up, and there was an advertisement that made m-me think! What if! What if, we get Frisk to help out at my lab! She’s great w-with mechanics, I could use the help, and... and... I missed something, didn’t I.”

The sight of a bleeding pirate on one of the bar tables seemed to take the wind out of the short monster’s sails, and Grillby, sighing in exasperation, beckoned her closer with a finger held to his fiery lips.

“...Alphys, please. Now is not the time... though perhaps there’s something you could do for him? Ease his passing?” he redirected rather forcefully, motioning towards the groaning dog, and Frisk, knelt in front of the chest and fiddling with the rusty dial, sent him a hard glance that he was not blind to before returning to unlocking the chest.

Alphys, straightening her skirts and coughing awkwardly, scurried to join them, standing on tip toe to inspect the delirious monster lying on the scrubbed wooden table as best she could. Her cheeks reddened the longer she looked him over, her hands fumbling with his filthy cloak.

“Y-you do understand that this isn’t the kind of doctor I am, G-Grillby. I work with m-machines, not people... I can’t do anything about this...” she muttered, forlorn and at a loss, and a crack of thunder shook the entire bar, making them all jump nervously.

Grillby only shook his head, and laid a careful hand on the spotty, torn material of the dying monster’s trousers.

“...Be at peace, then, friend... make your last wishes.”

Frisk, at the edge of the table, finally jerked the lock open on the chest and tossed the padlock to the floor dismissively, standing and throwing the top of the chest open.

...it was empty.

No, no, not empty. There, in the very corner, was a dirty little round object, about the size of a large apple, covered in canvas and tied awkwardly with twine. She reached out to pick it up, surprised at its weight, and beside her, Doggo groaned, reaching for it like it was his saving grace, all he lived for.

He certainly seemed to be dying for it.

His paws cradled the orb gently, as though it were made of glass, before he looked, with desperate urgency, to Frisk. It was as though he wasn’t even aware of the other monsters beside him, his glazed eye focusing on her with the driving force of the galing wind outside the bar.

“Take it. Hide it, use it, I don’t care... but you can’t let him find it. Ya can’t let him have it! He’s coming, sure as the stars and quick as a cursed breeze... you hafta go...”

Frisk edged towards him, eyes on the ball in his hands.

“What is that? Who’s coming?” she pressed, breath catching in her chest in ominous fear and overwhelming urgency, and one of his paws, claws cracked and pads rough from years of hard labor, flashed out to bunch in the neckline of her tank top, jerking her forward until she was nose to nose with him.

It was the most sane and lucid she’d seen him yet.

“A monster that has killed _hundreds_ for this, and will kill again. I’m... aahhh... I’m sorry for the burden... but it must be kept from him. Remember... trust no one... especially not the Scourge... the... skele... ton...”

His grip on her weakened even as he spoke, his awareness fading into nothingness. The light in his gaze dimmed, his jaw hanging slack, and as he fell back to the tabletop, it was with final breath, his magic wicking out like the head of a candle in a gale.

He was dust before they could blink, his clothes empty and his collar falling, with a rattle, to the wooden surface. The orb he had held bounced from what had been his paw and to the floor, scaring Alphys into a shriek.

Frisk stared, wide eyed and mortified, at the remains of the monster before her. She... she had never seen a monster die before... _anyone_ die... what was happening....

Grillby, the least shaken of the small group, reached out to place a hand on Frisk’s back, as though to draw her into a hug. She was shaking, not even aware of the tears streaking her cheeks, but he never got the chance.

At that moment, a searchlight strobed out of the darkness of the encroaching storm swallowing the bar whole, sweeping over the front of the building and beaming through the barred front window.

Grillby scowled, more than done with this day, and waved to his companions to stay put while he went to the window to peek out.

Just as he had thought. A sloop, messily constructed but heavily armed, was approaching from the pier, from the direction of the crashed ship. They would make the all too correct assumption that their apparently thieving comrade had fled here.

And if he knew pirates... he knew they could expect no mercy for being innocent bystanders.

“ ...We have to leave.  _ Now _ . I believe we have unwanted company, and if I can glean anything from our fallen friend here, we can only look forward to our own deaths by staying. Come, out the back. Alphys, I assume we may use your coach?”

Both females stood stock still for a moment, frozen by fear and the unknown, before Frisk leapt into action, snatching up the collar of Alphys’ coat and dragging her towards the back of the bar. She scooped the covered orb up with a free hand as she ran, trying to ignore the grit of the dust covering it, and shoved it into one of her jacket’s pockets.

It seemed to be a lot more trouble than it was worth, but it had to be worth  _ something _ , at the very least keeping safe. Plus... it had been the monster’s last wish. That had to be honored.

Grillby followed quickly afterwards, following locking the front door (silly, he knew, but it may buy them a few moments), and together they ventured into the pouring fury of the heavens, bolting for the expensive hover cart that had brought Alphys out to the edge of the ocean and away from her lab in the first place.

* * *

It took the pirates a few moments to break down the door, aided by an ionized beam of pure magic that scared the lesser monsters present into nearly wetting themselves, but once the strong, iron studded door was down they flooded into the bar, looking around balefully with weapons drawn and teeth bared and curses on their tongues.

One of the more intuitive of the lot sprinted for the back door, finding it swinging wide open and a coach humming off into the galing storm, and shot after it with his sidearm, missing wildly and howling in dismay.

He called for the others immediately, pulling his tattered hat low and squinting into the fogged mist.

“Come on, after them! They’re getting away!”

Further within the bar, though, a lone monster, unintimidating in stature but cleverer than most (you could see it in the glint of his gaze, the curl of his smile), stood before the bar, looking pensively at the pictures hung above the shelves of liquor. He took a bottle up, pulled the cork with his teeth, and took a thoughtful swig, gaze lingering on what looked like a family photo.

“belay that. you’d be wasting your breath and our fuel... that was a very good model cart. better than our little dinghy, and much faster. we’d never catch them.”

The other pirates, confused and grumbling, stomped back into the main bar, a few spitting on Doggo’s dust as they passed it. The leader of the pirates, as though he seemed, folded his arms and tilted his head, gesturing to the photo he was inspecting to levitate it off the wall with a glow of translucent blue magic, while another of the pirates flung a chair at one of the walls.

“It’d be better than sitting around waiting! What are we gonna do here, huh? Set ourselves up an ambush, and wait for them to come back?!”

The leader of the brigands snorted, pulling the picture of the human girl and the flame elemental from its frame and tucking it into his overcoat. His tricorn hat dripped rainwater onto his shoulders, but he paid it no mind, focusing instead on the neck of the bottle he was drinking from.

Once he had had his fill, he threw the bottle to the floor, spashing rum across those present’s boots.

“no. bust the alcohol and burn it down. we know who has the map, and likely where they’re gonna be staying. we watch them close enough, and have a modicum of patience... and we might not just get the treasure, we may get a free ride and an armada galleon out of the deal.”

The monster turned to his comrades with a bare, satisfied grin, the ivory bone of his skull glinting with drops of rain and sparks of azure sorcery.

“ this is good, friends.  _ very  _ good.”

 


	3. When Stars Align

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey begins with an unexpected encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long folks! Hopefully the length will make up for it!

* * *

“Frisk! Frisk, wait for me!”

Frisk, face raised to the cool, spiced breeze ruffling her bangs and lifting her spirits, halted obligingly at the end of the gangway of the transport cruiser she had just exited, snapping out of her enchanted trance. She had gotten swept away in the crowd exiting the cruiser, completely distracted by the sight of the hustle and bustle of the Intergalactic Space Port Hub.

The engineer of the port had had a bit of a funny imagination, thinking to form the hub itself into a permanent crescent moon filled with warehouses, housing lodges, bars, offices, and, of course, launching stations for the hundreds of thousands of spacefaring ships that came through their section of the galaxy. It was something of a curio, for interested minds and tourist groups, a masterwork of architecture and engineering, but above all, it stood as the waypoint for many a traveler…

And the starting line for her own great adventure.

Taking in the wondrous sight, the splendorous curve of the logic-defying spaceport and the multitudinous crowds pushing and pulling for purchase on the many walkways of the station, Frisk let out a happy sigh, shouldering her backpack and bouncing on the heels of her boots. She didn’t care about the otherworlders shoving past her, impatient to be on their way, the upper-class humans that looked down their noses at her ill kept braid and the tears in the knees of her jeans.

She’d never felt so free, so absolutely ready for anything. She was really doing this, really doing something worthwhile… and she’d never known such peace and happiness, not since she was a little girl.

No one would ever look down on her, her family, or her friends again after this. She would be worth something.

Behind her on the gangplank, the person that had called out to her finally hobbled into view, weighed down under an enormous backpack, a safari hat that was two sizes too large and kept slipping over her eyes, and an armful of tourist paraphernalia that she had been talked into buying at the loading dock back on the planet.

Alphys huffed, shifting her backpack on her shoulders, and carefully edged down the walkway, sending Frisk a sheepish grin.

“Hoo! Sorry, t-the crowds are a little thick today! Probably the holidays… heh… but! I’m glad we’re getting to head out together like this! I’ve always wanted to get to know you better, and a few long months in space is the perfect way to do that. I think,” she chirped, adjusting her hat with her shoulder only for it again to fall into her face, and Frisk, chuckling and taking her hat to carry it for her, nodded in accord, again looking to the crowded pier and the port beyond.

She couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

“It’ll be great, Alphys. Thanks for getting all this in order for us,” she assured her, leading the way into the milling crowd and craning her neck in an attempt to take in everything, every snapping flag and marching soldier and drunken crewman, while Alphys scurried in her wake, flushed and stuttering.

“Oh… it was no problem… well, finding a good crew was a little tough, to be honest. Every time I found one, they seemed to either drop out on me or just disappear entirely! This one was kind of a last resort… but! I did find the best available captain! She was very highly rated.”

Frisk shrugged one shoulder, dodging around the skirts of a very impatient, wide set monster yelling at a window-cleaner and his ladder that seemed to be in her way.

“As long as she gets us out there and back without crashing the ship, she’s good in my books. I kind of promised Grillby I wouldn’t get myself killed,” she reminded the monster behind her with a crooked smile, eyes on the crowd but consideration far away, on the night the pirates had driven them into the unknown.

* * *

Summer had never seemed colder than the night they had fled the bar, the freezing rain sinking into Frisk’s bones, to her very soul. She sat in one of Alphys’ wide bay windows, looking out over the howling storm, the lightning arching across the sky, with emptiness and regret in her heart. In her hands rested the orb she had plucked from the ground as she had fled the besieged bar, glinting dully in the light from the roaring fire warming the large sitting room.

She hadn’t meant to unwrap it, meaning to leave it for a better time, but her curiosity and her tendency to fiddle with things when idle prompted her to mess with the twine ties, and with very little prompting, the ball now rolling between her palms had fallen free of its haphazard, dust covered wrappings.

It was a curious thing, made of brass and composed of many moving planes and compressible pads, etched with unknown symbols and emitting an odd warmth. She nor Alphys could make little rhyme or reason of it, though, to be honest, she had been a little preoccupied since discovering it.

Frisk clutched the little sphere, glancing over her shoulder and then back to the window, her lips a thin line of heartache.

She could barely stand to look at Grillby, where he stood, still and contemplative, before Alphys’ deep fireplace, staring into the flames. He hadn’t spoken since they’d arrived and Alphys had rushed upstairs to attempt to reach the police force, his posture as tall and straight as ever but his silence telling.

She knew he wasn’t angry with her. He never had been. And she knew, deep down, that this hadn’t been her fault. The pirates still would have come even if she hadn’t been there, causing him worry and upset for the thousandth time. Even if she hadn’t fucked up again and invaded his already troubled life with her lackluster excuses and her insufficiency.

But it felt like her fault. It felt like every other time that she had hurt him, only this time, it may have cost him everything he owned and loved. All over this stupid, worthless ball of brass and buttons.

She dropped her forehead against the cool, misty glass in the window, clenching her eyes shut and forcing back tears. Crying wouldn’t save her father’s bar.

Wouldn’t make her less of a screwup.

Both she and Grillby looked up with interest and hope when Alphys, stumbling and crashing into one of the many machines littering her winding grand staircase, clattered down the stairs and into her entry hall, gasping for breath and flushed with her hurry, but her expression was telling, sunken into pity and remorse.

A telegram was clutched between her hands, and even from where she sat, Frisk could read the words ‘fire’ and 'destroyed’ on it.

Alphys stopped to gasp for breath, leaning against the doorframe and huffing, before letting herself into the room and stopping at Grillby’s side, hesitantly holding the telegram out to him. He took it with a flat, expectant expression, his shoulders slumping just the slightest amount.

Alphys raised a hand to pat his back as he read, and Frisk lowered her head, turning her face away to look out the window again but seeing nothing but the reflection of her adoptive father’s dejection. She idly spun one of the ball’s surfaces, the smooth clicking and whirring strangely soothing.

“I-I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, Grillby… but the report just came in. T-there’s nothing left. The pirates burned the bar to the g-ground,” Alphys murmured in the background, hands clasping together in front of her and tail swishing in agitation, and Grillby, finishing the report with a heavy, crackling sigh, folded it and slid it into the inside pocket of his waistcoat.

“…Thank you, Alphys. I appreciate you taking us in… while I find other recourses.”

Frisk flinched, rotating another plane on the ball and staring at nothing. She felt as though she should say something… offer some sort of condolence… but what did she have to offer that could possibly help? She had only ever been a burden, and still, even in his time of strife and need, he intended to try to care for her. She had nothing to give in return.

Absolutely nothing.

She didn’t even notice when the ball in her hands clicked into place with her next rotation, the buttons sliding out just the slightest amount.

Alphys, beside the fireplace, flushed and blustering, turned her attention to a tray of teacups and saucers one of her servants had brought in, moving it over to the blueprint littered, coffee ringed table in the middle of a circle of very comfortable chairs. She waved Grillby over, pushing her glasses back up her snout and pouring a cup of hot water as he seated himself, one gloved hand rising to rub at his forehead.

“I-It’s no problem! I’m glad to help! I-I’m just sorry this happened, and over that little brass ball. I’ve n-never seen anything like it, myself… can’t even figure out how to open it, if it does at all, ” she enumerated, waving a hand to where Frisk sat in the window, and it was with this prompt, and a startled jerk, that Frisk realized something about the ball had changed.

She curiously depressed one of the buttons, turning the sphere this way and that as more seemed to emerge with a resonant, almost musical quality, and set to work finding a pattern in the machinations, the conversation in the background fading into white noise in favor of the mystery at hand.

When she finally found the correct pattern, with several off key notes and a frustrating moment when the ball reset and she had to find the right combination of spins to attempt the buttons again, she expected it to fall open, perhaps revealing some sort of treasure.

She didn’t think it would explode into bright green magic, expanding across the whole room in a geographical net strung with stars and planets; she nearly dropped it, she was so shocked.

“The markings are ancient, some I’ve never even heard of, and the design! Even with my years of experience and… Whoa! Wh-what did you do? That’s… my _stars_.”

All three of them stood to gaze upon the vastness of the intricate hologram, tea forgotten and jaws hanging wide. They stood amongst the heavens, planets wheeling past and galaxies spinning in fantastical orbit before their very eyes, caught in the midst of deep space and glowing with the power of magic long forgotten.

Grillby, hands limp at his sides and gaze following the path of a nearby asteroid field, hummed under his breath, calculating and introspective.

“…It’s a map.”

Alphys nodded vigorously, jumping excitably when a constellation expanded and retracted upon coming into contact with the backs of one of her chairs, her eyes filled with wonder and majesty.

“Yes, c-clearly… but where… how do we…” she wondered, turning on the spot and gazing up at the far-off ceiling of her sitting room, and Frisk, the brass ball limp in one hand as she inspected the rotating heavenly bodies, reached out for a nearby, familiar hologram with a cautious finger.

“Look, here we are, on Montressor. Maybe if I just…” she mused, tapping the surface of one of the visible continents, and the next moment, the rest of the map disappeared, flying by in a dizzying flash of shooting stars and space warping motion. They seemed to be following a trail of planets connected by a shimmering golden trail, bouncing across the universe with extraordinary speed.

Alphys let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeal, spinning around in tiny, dizzy circles and attempting to identify all of the celestial forms they were speeding past.

“Ahh! Y-yes, that seemed to work! Here, that’s The Magellanic Cloud! The Coral Galaxy… That’s the Cygnus Cross, and the Kerian Abyss! Frisk, can you slow it down, I can’t keep up!”

She didn’t have the mind to try, her attention dedicated to the whirling dervish of stars and galaxies, to what this all could possibly mean. Doggo had said something about a map, about the importance of keeping it out of the wrong hands… but what could this lead to that warranted him giving up his very life for it? No one journeyed out this far into space anymore, all of the planets had been mined dry long ago.

Alphys seemed to be of the same wonderment, frowning deeply the further they traveled.

“We’re out past the Seraphic Belt, into no man’s land now… But what could be out this fa… _**no**_.”

And there was the answer, appearing from behind the husk of a shattered, drained Ice Giant, straight out of myth and legend; all other heavenly bodies disappeared around it, the destination of the map revealed at last, spinning slowly in pace amidst its outer rings.

It was all Frisk could see, her heart lifting from the dark clutches of her depressive cage, her imagination and hope taking flight on wings of adventure and intrigue.

“…that’s Treasure Planet. That’s _Treasure Planet_!” she exclaimed, her smile giddy and wide as the far reaches of their galaxies, and Alphys nearly fainted from sheer excitement, clutching at the neckline of her sweater and hopping in place. Her glasses were crooked on her face, but she paid them no mind, taking Frisk’s hands in hers and vibrating with glee.

“Von Gast’s hoard?! The wealth of a thousand kingdoms?! Do you know what this _means_?!”

Grillby, far more composed than either of them, raised his hands quellingly, attempting to lessen the dramatic tension in the room.

“…Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves…”

But both Alphys and Frisk were beyond reason. They were being carried away by the possibilities, by the lore and the legend and the sheer _amazement_ at their discovery, dancing around each other and gazing, with starstruck eyes, at the source of their wildest dreams, floating serenely in the center of the room.

“It _means_ all of that gold is just a ship’s ride away. We could find it!” Frisk practically shouted, clutching the map to her chest (this was it. This was her big chance, the way for her to prove herself!), and Alphys nodded so hard her glasses fell to the floor, not even noticed in her mania, raising a hand to cup the form of the rotating planet.

“We would be lauded as the greatest explorers of all time! Fame unimaginable! We could- ahh! Whoa, w-where’d it go?” she blubbered, the hologram snapping back into the brass ball with a press of a button, and Frisk, heart in her throat and eyes sparkling, turned on her still damp boot heel to appeal to Grillby, who had folded his arms across his chest, expression firm.

He already knew what she was thinking and didn’t approve, she could tell, but she pressed on anyway, holding the map out to him and shaking it, her smile bright and full of hopeful determination.

“Grillby, we could do this. We’d never have to struggle again. We’d have it all!”

He let out a heavy, put-upon sigh, pinching the bridge of his nasal prominence before giving the human girl a flat, skeptical look.

“…Frisk, come now. A treasure map? This won’t solve anything. Absolutely not,” he dismissed, cutting a hand through the air in finality, but Frisk stood her ground, pointing out the window she had just been sitting in indicatively.

“Don’t you remember the stories? This is _it_! They all talked about it!”

Grillby scowled at that, hands spreading in his frustration.

“…And that is all they were. _Stories._ This is all fantasy, legends based on myth! I can’t let you go flying off into the universe on a wild goose chase, with _pirates_ after the same star forsaken nonsense, on the whim that an ancient map may lead to a likely nonexistent treasure.”

Frisk’s expression firmed stubbornly, arms folding over her chest, and Grillby threw his hands in the air, turning his face away and waving a hand at her in bitter ire.

“…Alphys, please. Explain to her how ridiculous this is. Stars know she doesn’t listen to me,” he murmured, sadness and rancor in his terse tone, and Frisk, heart clenching, dropped her gaze to the toes of her boots, lips thinning and tears pricking at her eyes. Yeah… that hurt a bit, most especially because it was true.

Alphys, wringing her hands at the tension in the room, wrapped her tail around her feet and looked between the other two occupants of the room before gulping, attempting to push her still missing glasses back up her snout (she looked around in confusion at the discovery of their absence, patting her coat pockets before spotting them on the ground and scooping them up), and stepping forward, looking up at Frisk with a negative, apologetic expression.

“He’s right, Frisk. G-galavanting off into space alone, in such dangerous circumstances? Unheard of!”

Frisk’s heart sank even further, her shoulders slumping and her entire body numbing, but Alphys wasn’t done, shining her glasses on her blouse and donning them again with a great flourish and a determined expression. She clapped a clawed hand to Frisk’s arm, and nodded with incredible resolution, her other hand fisted on her hip and her head held high.

“T-that! That’s why I’m going with you!” she announced grandly, just a little too loudly, and Frisk, her head snapping up with excitement and wonder, stared down at her with a broad grin. Grillby, who had been nodding in agreement only a moment before, lowered his face into one hand in agitation, rubbing at his temple with one thumb.

“…Alphys, for the stars’ sakes.”

She wasn’t paying any attention anymore, though, rushing about the room in a frenzy of flying papers and giddy anticipation, shoving several hats, a wrench, a compass, and, oddly, a toothbrush, into a briefcase as she went.

“Can you imagine it?! Far off worlds, not seen for centuries! The adventure of a millennia! I have plenty of gold stashed away to finance the expedition and commission a ship, we can hire a fleet captain and an able crew… oh, how I’ve been waiting for this day! Finding the greatest wonder of our time, an entire _planet_ constructed of machinery, filled to the brim with the gold of hundreds of civilizations!” she enthused, spinning on her heel, as though caught in a whirlwind of fancy and adventure, and the fire elemental, scoffing and shaking his head, strode back to the fireplace, annoyed beyond anything Frisk had seen in a very long time.

“…You are both intolerable. I won’t have any part of this,” he snapped, his hands clenched tightly behind his back, and Alphys seemed to deflate, her briefcase drooping in her hands and her head bowing meekly. Frisk’s smile faded as well, her brows gathering in pain and heartache before she trailed, hesitant and slow, in her caretaker’s footsteps, hovering in his flickering shadow and, with a ragged sigh, dropping her forehead against his broad back.

He stiffened for a moment, thick arms tensing… before settling, his head lowering. Frisk, taking heart, shuffled a step closer, leaning against his back, not just for comfort, but to offer it too.

“Grillby… I know. Okay? I know what I’ve put you through. How hard you work to try to keep me flying straight. And I keep just messing up, putting you through hell worrying. But I don’t want that. I don’t want to be just another disappointment, especially not to you,” she muttered against the material of his vest, smoothing her fingers over the well-loved item (how many times had she fallen asleep on his chest, breathing in his scent of wood smoke and varnish and fine, old suits), and he jolted, turning in her embrace to touch her cheek, expression heavy with concern and disagreement.

“…Frisk-” he began, already shaking his head and moving to shush her, but she didn’t let him, raising her chin to meet his gaze. Her eyes shone with her resolution, the stubbornness that defined her very soul.

“This is my chance. I can prove myself, to you and everyone. We can find the treasure, get your bar back, if you want… or you can retire. _I_ can take care of _you_. Please… let me do this. For _us_ , for everything we always hoped and dreamed of. I can’t… keep going like this, and I know you can’t either,” she plead, slipping her arms around his middle to bury her face against his chest, and he, without hesitation, wrapped her in his own arms, rocking her in place and pushing a warm kiss to the top of her head.

He was silent for a long moment, simply swaying and laying his cheek against the fall of her hair, before he let out a quiet exhalation, tightening his embrace.

“…I don’t want to lose you, Frisk. Space, criminals… there’s so much that can go wrong. If you didn’t come back… I don’t know what I would do.”

She sniffled, raising a hand to wipe at her damp eyes, and shifted in his arms to meet his worried, saddened gaze, lips quirking into a jocose, heartening smile, the smile he knew so well and hoped, every day, to see on her face again. It was a smile of hope and daring, of love and purpose.

He loved that smile, as much as he loved her, and knew, right then, that there would have been no way to keep her from this journey, not with all the power of the stars behind him.

“I _will_ come back. And when I do, I’ll never let you down again. I’ll make you proud,” she swore, blinking away the wetness clinging to her lashes, and he let out a wry chuckle, brushing her tangled, damp bangs from her face and shaking his head.

“…So much determination. I don’t think I could have stopped you if I tried. Just… be safe out there. Come back to me in one piece. …I know you need to do this, but don’t die trying. …I love you.”

* * *

Her heart throbbed with love and fond remembrance, her smile affectionate in her care, before shaking herself from the memory not long gone and turning again to the task that lay before her, sidestepping a puddle of only the stars knew what and looking over the nearest line of sailing vessels, sizes ranging from a common sloop to the grandest of fleet warships.

“So where is our boat? There’s a ton of them,” she mused aloud, looking on with amusement as, up in the shrouds of a nearby ship, a crewman seemed to be tied to the upper mast, blissfully asleep and unaware of the gull perched on his head.

Alphys stumbled to a stop next to her, puffing for breath and putting her hands on her knees for a moment, before standing back to her diminutive height and shrugging her new collection of snow globes and refrigerator magnets into one arm so as to hold her other hand over her eyes, squinting amongst the crowd.

“Huh… I don’t s- There she is! Down at the end, the R.L.S…. Nargelfair? Nagelfar? I don’t know how to pronounce it. I’ll ask Captain Undyne when we meet her,” she dismissed, clearly just as excited to get going as Frisk was, and both women waded back into the fray to slog their way over to the tall, sleek visage of a magnificent galleon, its solar sails bound up and its rigging bristling with men and monsters hard at work.

A spider monster leaped up the length of mainmast with incredible grace. A man with an eyepatch and a bright green headscarf and what looked like a mass of slime wearing a waistcoat coiled rope for the shrouds. Shouts and oaths hung heavy on the air, while above it all, the call of the lead rang out, stern and gravelly.

“Alright, ya knock-kneed ruffians! Keep the casks forward if ya can! And heave _together_ , for crimeny! Put your backs into it!”

Frisk and Alphys, after finding a spare burlap flour sack thrown over the top of a barrel to stow her knick knacks in, climbed up the footbridge to the main deck with care and wide eyes, standing to the side as a line of outworlders, lanky and gangling and sending the both of them odd looks, rolled sloshing barrels of fresh water past them, on their way to the hold.

Frisk hummed, holding tight to the strap of her pack and turning on the spot, walked further onto the deck as soon as they had passed, gaze up in the rigging as the second sun shone through them, catching in the ivory of the sails and the gold of the solar threads. The planks of the ship hummed with latent power, electricity and magic burgeoning to be released on their departure, and the air smelled of lacquer and sweat and oily smoke, the ozone of ionized laser reactors and the spark of deep space.

The way the ship bobbed, the way the faraway stars called to her… yes. This was something she could get used to. It felt like an old friend, reaching for her after time long past. It felt like adventure.

“Man… I’ve nev- ow!” she began, lowering her gaze to find where Alphys had gone in her aimless wandering, and ran straight into the hard chest of an immense, scarred wolf monster, his fangs yellowed and hanging, like sabers, over his bottom lip and two barrels, labeled to be full of hard tack, thrown over his shoulders. She stumbled backwards, right onto her rear, before standing back up and looking up at the sneering monster, breathless but penitent.

“Whoops, sorry about th-” she blurted, brushing herself off and trying to ignore the snide snickers of the other crewmen, but was cut off when the wolf, shouldering his burden with a dismissive, gruff snort, growled at her and brushed past her, tail slapping her in the face.

“Watch where you’re goin’, _human_ ,” he snarled, padding across the deck away from her, and Frisk, wiping several long, thick strands of fur from her mouth with a splutter and a wrinkled nose, stared after him in disbelief before wandering after Alphys, who was mounting the steps to the quarter-deck, drawn to the shouts of the crew lead.

“Hmm… friendly,” she muttered, spitting over the edge of the railing in distaste.

Alphys, struggling under the load of both her overlarge bags, nearly lost her balance at the top of the steps, wobbling on the edge of her heel, but caught herself with a flourish and a nervous laugh, looking around herself to see if anyone had noticed.

She saw no one, though Frisk shook her head dotingly and bent to pick up an emblazoned shot-glass that had fallen from her burlap sack, and carried on to the ship’s wheel, behind which stood, with a megaphone to his maw and a cane tucked under one arm, what appeared to be an elderly tortoise monster in a naval officer’s uniform, stark red and immaculate.

Alphys dithered behind him for a moment, shifting on her feet, before tapping his shell with one claw, standing on tip toe to reach.

“G-good morning, sir! Everything ship shape?” she called out, her voice a squeak of uneasy anxiety, and he, with a slight jolt, turned to face her, trim white beard swaying with his motion and hard, intense, golden eyes peering down his snout at her. He sent a quick, sharp look over to Frisk, who had the sudden urge to tuck in her shirt, before grinning broadly and letting out a guffaw, lowering the megaphone away from his mouth.

“Aye, lass! Now that you’re here, we can get everything locked in!” he informed her, tapping the end of his cane against the deck twice in succession, before directing his attention directly overhead.

“Captain! Come on down, the doc is here!” he shouted through the megaphone, a slight whine of feedback making everyone in the vicinity wince slightly, before turning with unreal speed and scuttling to Frisk’s side. He spied the safari hat she had been carrying for Alphys as he moved, and made a sound of revelation, snatching it from her free hand.

“Ah! You found my hat! Thank you, kid~” he crowed, and without further ado plopped it on his head.

Both Frisk and Alphys stared, befuddled and speechless, but before either of them could say a word, from atop the mizzenmast dropped a blur of aquamarine and royal blue, crashing to the deck in the very place the elderly, absently humming tortoise had been standing only a moment before.

The blur, after a moment of regaining their balance, was revealed the next moment to be a tall, azure scaled, and vicious looking fish monster, with shockingly red hair and fins, a bold black eyepatch bound over one slitted eye, and razor-sharp fangs. She wouldn’t have looked out of place in the medieval war scenes that Frisk had seen in one of the museums back home, but instead of a suit of armor, she wore a fine, regal captain’s overcoat and regalia in navy blue and gold, paired with tall, shiny black boots and long white gloves.

She gained her footing with the grace of a bear, roaring to full height with a laugh and a sharp grin, and turned to Alphys with intense enthusiasm, clapping a hand to her back with gusto.

“Ah ha! Finally! 'Bout time, I was contemplating having the men re-do all the shroud ties again!” she shouted, long red ponytail flapping in the breeze, but before Alphys could respond, or even catch up with her energy, she charged on, pounding a fist against her chest and smiling widely.

“’M Captain Undyne, former royal guardsman to his Majesty Asgore Dreemur! Retired from that, decided to wreak havoc in the skies! I’ll show you my scars from the Protean war sometime, they’re awesome!”

Alphys, spluttering and struggling to absorb the information being presented her, blinked very quickly several times and attempted to get out a response, clinging to her bags with pale yellow claws.

“I-I don’t think…” she stuttered, cast adrift (Frisk would have laughed, but she was just as out of her depth, set back by the unexpected greeting), but Undyne, the moment she spoke, turned to the old tortoise beside Frisk and thumped him on the shell, nearly bowling Frisk over in her exuberance.

“And you’ve already met my first mate, Mister Gerson! There’s no better monster to have at your back!” she informed them, and he cracked her on the knee with the end of his cane, cackling madly.

“Much more ’a that flattery nonsense and I’ll hafta swab the deck with ya, missy!”

“You can try, old timer! Hahaha!”

Alphys, finally seeming to catch up with the speedy, one-sided conversation, cleared her throat and shuffled her feet, blinking up at the enthusiastic fish monster with nervously flicking eyes.

“We’re v-very pleased to meet you both. Now… um. So! I-if you don’t mind me asking… what’s with the name of the ship? It’s very… u-unique,” she queried, her tail swishing behind her, and Undyne, brightening visibly, as though not many people asked her that, leapt on the answer almost physically, clenching her fist in the air and shaking it.

“The Naglfar! I named her after a badass viking ship from one of my favorite human history shows! It’s supposed to be the last ferry of the undead bringing battle to ancient gods! How kickass is that?!” she enthused, glowing with her ebullience and interest in the subject, and Alphys perked up, though her brows lowered at the excitable captain’s terminology.

“I-it wouldn’t happen to be from the anime O-One Piece, would it?” she asked quietly, and Undyne gasped, her slitted eye widening.

“That’s the one! You watch them too?!” she asked in near awe, gaze sparkling and gloved fingers rising to her fanged mouth, while Alphys flushed under her intense stare, gulping heavily and fiddling with the tie on her burlap bag.

“Heh… a little, yeah,” she admitted, and Undyne whooped, spinning in a circle and pumping her fist in the air.

“That’s so awesome! We should totally compare collections sometime!”

Alphys nodded, turning a darker red that Frisk snickered at little at (she had a weakness for people liking the same things she did, it was so rare to find in her academic community), before turning and grasping for Frisk’s wrist, pulling her into view from behind Gerson, who had returned to overseeing the crew and shouting at them through his megaphone.

“O-oh yes, definitely. But! I wanted to introduce you to Frisk! You see, s-she’s the one that found the treas-” she began eagerly, attempting to turn the conversation away from herself and to the subject at hand, but the moment that the word treasure started to slip past her lips, Undyne, a flare of shock and dread rushing over her expression, leapt forward to clap her hand over the lizard monster’s mouth, silencing her and glancing around the surrounding deck.

A few of the crewmen sent her odd looks, a few with suspicion and dark interest attached to them, and Undyne met every one of their gazes, her smile strained.

“Traaaacing paper! For the charts. Fantastic, just what we needed!” she recovered, patting Alphys’ snout while, at the same moment, surreptitiously leaning sideways and hissing through her fangs:

“Hey. If you’d be so… _kind,_ doc… Follow me to my gallery. We need to have a chat.”

She released the smaller monster to stalk down the stairs and across the deck with purpose and agitation, jerking her head at Gerson as she went, who herded both Frisk and Alphys after her encouragingly while instructing the men on their duties further.

The four of them ducked into the stateroom below the stern, and once Gerson had securely locked the door behind them, Undyne, with a heavy sigh, plopped into the chair behind the navigation table at the head of the room, setting her boots on the top and wiping her hand across her face. She was clearly agitated, her cranial fins flared and her expression nonplussed.

“Doctor… Can I call you Alph instead? I’m sorry for cutting you off, but I gotta say… that was pretty damn stupid. Shouting about treasure maps, in front of _this_ crew? We’ll all wake up with slit throats in the morning,” she grunted, scraping a hank of her hair away from her face with her claws, and Alphys jerked, blinking and offended.

“S-stupid? Now…” she started, striding towards the desk and propping a hand on her hip, but Undyne rolled her visible eye, rotating in her chair and stretching.

“Not personal, Alph, I promise. You just have to be very, very careful with these ruffians. Now, can I take a look at the map?” she queried, holding out a hand expectantly, and Frisk, also disapproving of Alphys being called stupid, scowled at the fish monster before glancing at Alphys, raising a brow.

She hesitated, clearly still bothered, but nodded and gestured towards the captain, and Frisk, shrugging, reached back to dig the brass ball out from the confines of her backpack, tossing it into Undyne’s waiting hand once it was free.

The azure fish monster sat back up in her chair the moment her fist closed around the ball, turning it this way and that in the light of the lantern mounted on the side of her desk. Her strained expression morphed into one of intrigue and curiosity, claws pressing, without avail, at several of the buttons.

“That’s freakin’ awesome… Some kind of ancient magic artifact… pretty sweet. Can’t wait to see it in action!” she murmured, tilting her head and nodding, before she pulled open a drawer in the desk, setting the ball within and thereafter locking it securely with a key she then slung around her own neck, sending a pointed look to everyone in the room.

“Alright, folks. We’re gonna need to keep this in here with me while we’re not using it for navigation. Any chance of it falling into the wrong hands has to be avoided. We good with that?” she stipulated, lingering extra long on Alphys, who huffed and turned away, cheeks puffing in a pout.

“I s-suppose.”

In turning away, she missed the small smile that lifted Undyne’s lips, as well as the light turquoise blush that flitted across her cheeks.

Frisk, more concerned with looking around the interior of the gallery (there were weapons everywhere, everything from ridiculously huge swords to laser rifles with far too many scopes on them), nodded in accord, hands slitting into her front pockets.

“That’s fair. I mean, we’ve already dealt with a pirate raid over it,” she admitted, and Undyne, composing herself, pointed a finger at Frisk indicatively.

“Exactly. So let’s try to keep that shit to the minimum, especially when it comes to these crewmen,” she insisted, and Alphys, bristling and nettled, turned on her heel, her face red in her rare temper.

“H-hey. Now come on, they can’t be that bad,” she returned, her hand tight around the neck of her sack of knick knacks, but Undyne, unimpressed with her summation, scoffed blatantly, expression sarcastic and dismissive.

“’ _Not that bad_?’ Ugh. Gerson, what did I say about them this morning? It was a pretty good turn of phrase…” she prompted, turning her hand in a small circle in the direction of the elderly reptile, and he snickered, tipping the brim of his new hat up with the handle of his cane.

“'Bunch of brainless layabouts that couldn’t find the bow if it got shoved up their asses, heh heh.”

Undyne guffawed rudely, slapping the top of the desk and upsetting a pile of important looking paperwork, and nodded at Alphys, who only scowled harder, her entire body quivering.

“Ha! That’s the one. And not only that, they’re rowdy and mean to boot. Only ones with good heads on their shoulders work below decks,” she affirmed, pointing a meaningful claw at the planks below them, and Alphys, steam practically billowing from under her frilled auricular prominences, rounded on the desk.

“C-captain, I’d rather not jump to conclusions before they have a chance to prove themselves!” she protested, and Undyne gave her an impatient, flat look, bobbing one foot irritably on the top of her desk.

“I got a good sense about things, Alph. Trust me on this one, wouldn’t trust 'em as far as I can throw 'em. And I have a pretty damn good arm.”

Alphys opened her mouth to object again, stubborn and willful, but Undyne didn’t give her time to, groaning and holding up a hand to stop her.

“Aaaagh. Look. It’s for the best, alright? Now let’s move on. If we want to get started on this trip, we need to get the ship launched, ASAP. Preferably before the end of the month,” she insisted, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder and throwing her booted feet to the floor, and though Alphys looked tempestuous, mouth opening and closing and tail sweeping the floor behind her in agitation, she sighed and turned stiffly away, stumping over to Frisk’s side and pulling at her sleeve, distracting the human girl from her contemplation of a complex astrolabe.

“…Agreed. Come on, Frisk…” she prompted morosely, jerking her head towards the stateroom door that Gerson was unlocking, before Undyne, with a sound of realization, knocked her knuckles on the top of her desk, pushing herself to her feet and leaning on the item heavily.

“Right, right, nearly forgot… Miss Frisk. I don’t stand for idle hands on my ship, causes accidents and… trouble. So, I’m going to be putting you to work, while you’re with us. Think you can handle that?”

It wasn’t really a question, she could tell from the tone the captain had said it in, so Frisk didn’t bother to answer, nodding curtly instead despite the objection roiling in her stomach, and Undyne looked satisfied, rounding her desk and brushing past the pair of females lingering in the doorway of the gallery.

“Head down to the galley, then; your supervisor, Mister Snowdin, will be sure to be down there. Gerson, make sure she gets there.”

“Aye Captain!”

She was gone the next moment, sweeping from the room with gusto and purpose and the turn of her boot heel, and Gerson, his hand raised in a salute, waved her out of sight before turning to Frisk.

“Alright, ya heard her, lass, on your way! Step lively, now!” he yelled happily, shooing his hands at Frisk to get her moving, and Alphys, glaring after Undyne’s departure, huffed and skipped along in the human girl’s shadow.

“I’ll come along too, m-might as well meet the fellow!” she chirped, seeming to be determined to force herself into a better mood, and Frisk, sending her a grateful smile, reached out a hand to rub her shoulder. She’d never seen the usually upbeat doctor in such a state…

“Thanks,” she whispered, and let Gerson herd the both of them from the gallery and across the deck once more to the steps down into the kitchens, dodging crewmen that were scurrying across the ship at their captain’s reappearance. As they walked, Alphys, stretching her steps to keep up with Frisk’s, tutted and puffed a bit, looking back over her shoulder to where Undyne stood at the helm, looking over the crew’s work.

“Honestly, Frisk. I appreciate her frankness, but! I hired her, s-she should at least acknowledge that a little bit!” she complained, ducking into the stairwell, and Frisk, humming in agreement, descended the steps after her, straightening the pack over her shoulder.

“And I understand needing to not have anyone sitting around doing nothing, but putting me to work? It’s my map, I didn’t sign up…” she started, but Gerson, with a loud harrumph and a poke of his cane to the galley door between their heads, interrupted, his expression fierce.

“You both had better shut your yaps, y'hear? Captain Undyne is the finest captain out there, and her decisions are for the best for everyone. I won’t hear a word against her. Got it?” he reprimanded, pushing the door open and shooing them both inside, and both women looked abashed, quirking their mouths to the side and nodding.

“Yes sir…”

Gerson looked appeased, squinting at them in the much darker galley (it seemed to be lit, at the moment, only by the open hatch windows alongside the dining tables, most of the room darkened by billows of sweet smelling steam. It curled around the entirety of the kitchen and the dining room, and made all of them huff for breath, unused to the consistency of the air.

“Good. Now… Papyrus! You down here, lad?” he called into the fog, and, with a great clatter and what sounded like a knife being stabbed into wood, a tall, gangling figure appeared from the smoke, broad-shouldered and extremely narrow waisted.

Frisk nearly swallowed her tongue when this… _Papyrus_ took a step into the light streaming from one of the windows and smiled, his face completely bare of flesh, his arms living bone and his sockets empty of all but a welcoming, bright smile.

A skeleton. He was a living, walking, breathing (maybe? She honestly couldn’t tell) _skeleton._

“ _…A monster that has killed_ _hundreds_ _for this, and will kill again. I’m… aahhh… I’m sorry for the burden… but it must be kept from him. Remember… trust no one… especially not the Scourge… the… skele… ton..”_

Doggo’s last words resounded in her mind, the warning she hadn’t given enough credence to before freezing her in place, as the skeleton monster, wringing his gloved hands, wiped his forehead with a rag he had thrown over his shoulder, a tidy brown apron tied over his flare sleeved shirt, orange vest, and neat brown trousers. A long, intricately folded red neckerchief was tied around his neck, fluttering in the breeze blowing in from one of the windows.

He looked a little nervous, to be honest, and waved a hand through the mist clogged air.

“Ah! Mister Gerson, what a pleasant surprise! I apologize for the steam, I was just preparing lunch for the crew! Something went just the smallest bit awry, but I’m fixing it up right now, sir!” he assured the elderly tortoise, bouncing on the toes of his shiny boots and flicking his gaze, both earnest and questioning, to where Frisk and Alphys stood behind him, and Gerson, chuckling and shaking his head, reached out to pat the monster’s shoulder.

“Keep your hat on, kiddo, you know I don’t mind. This here is Doctor Alphys, the financier of our voyage, and Frisk, her companion. You two, this is Papyrus Snowdin, our cook for the trip. He’s very good, you won’t regret hirin’ him on,” he assured them both, and when the monster stepped forward to shake both of their hands, grinning eagerly and so widely his jaw creaked, Frisk felt her fear slip away almost entirely.

This wasn’t a monster that had ever killed anyone. She very much doubted he had ever swatted a fly hard enough to injure it. She was being ridiculous, and likely very racist. For all she knew, there were thousands of skeleton monsters out in the universe.

She took his hand when he extended it to her, and shook it firmly, sending him a happy, sincere smile.

“Lovely to meet you, Papyrus.”

He seemed ecstatic at the warm reception he had received, and clasped his hands together, his smile infectious.

“Charmed! I look forward to forming great friendships with both of you! It’s a long journey ahead, I’m told, and we’ll see a lot of each other!” he enthused, looking between the both of them happily, and Gerson huffed a laugh dotingly before knocking his cane against a nearby table leg.

“Heh! Anyways… where’s your brother, Papyrus?” he pressed, looking around the dining room, but didn’t have to look long, nor required answer from Papyrus himself.

A match struck from the direction of the kitchen, flaring in the dark, steamy room and throwing odd, eerie illumination across another skeletal face, a grin that sent Frisk’s heart into stillness.

“right here, sir. just keepin’ an eye on things… metaphorically, heh,” came a new, deep voice from the dark of the galley, beside one of the unlit stoves, and from the haze of whatever it was that Papyrus was cooking emerged a second, shorter skeleton monster, bearing a broad smile and quick, bright pinpricks of white light in his lidded sockets.

He wore a plain white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, scrappy and smudged with the same black grease that trailed his left cheekbone, tucked into several loaded tool belts and a pair of creased, striped black and white trousers. His untied boots were just as ill kept, though toed with what looked like steel, and around his hips was tied a faded blue overcoat, dotted with brass buttons and the occasional oil stain.

A pipe, lit with a glowing blue coal, hung from between his teeth, emitting a softly glowing, almost sentient periwinkle smoke that swirled around the tips of his tricorn leather hat and through the lit, amused looking sockets of his skull. It gave him a ghostly look that only contributed to the chill that ran down Frisk’s spine when his hooded gaze dragged over her in passing, her blood turning cold in her veins.

He was of no significant size, only a spare inch or so taller than she was herself. He seemed friendly, with an easy grin and a welcoming aura about him that clearly put the others at ease. There was a laugh and a hidden joke in his deep baritone, the kind that drew the attention of crowds and the hearts of ladies, and a charm in his mien that surely ingratiated him to all those he met without quarter.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was vastly more dangerous than Papyrus, potentially even the skeleton monster she had been warned about by Doggo. There was something in the way he carried himself, on guard and authoritative despite his slovenly appearance, that set her on edge.

Something was off about him, though she had no idea what, and she didn’t like it, at all.

Gerson grunted at his appearance, and stabbed the end of his cane at the monster, glancing at the women lingering in the doorway of the galley.

“Ah, there you are, smartass. This is Sans Snowdin, ladies, our chief engineer. The old girl stays afloat through his expertise,” he informed them, his tone far less amiable than his words, and Sans, a glint of mischief in his gaze, swept his hat from his head in a grand, outrageous bow before replacing it over the red handkerchief tied around the dome of his skull.

“you flatter me, sir,” he murmured, approaching further through the steadily clearer room, and Gerson scoffed, shrugging at the shoulders of his uniform and sending a flat glare to the unaffected skeleton monster.

“And you annoy me, bonehead.”

Sans only raised his hands in an accepting shrug, his smile one of ease and humor, and stopped before Alphys, extending a hand, bare to the bone, for her to shake. There was keen awareness in his gaze as he considered her, nodding his head respectfully.

“doctor alphys. look forward to sailin’ with ya… i really enjoyed your article on centrifugal automotive combustion. titillating stuff,” he enumerated, juggling the end of his pipe between his teeth, and Alphys, blinking repeatedly and blushing, held a hand to her chest, stuttering over her response.

“Well! W-well, thank you!” she stammered, pleased and flattered, and Sans tipped the edge of his hat to her in acknowledgment before turning to Frisk, holding out his hand for her as well.

“and miss frisk… a pleasure. it’s always interesting to see a newbie take to the skies,” he rumbled, holding her gaze with an intensity that felt oddly like she was being judged, weighty and deep, and though Frisk wanted to refuse the peace offering, distrust and misgiving filling her heart, she took his hand anyway and shook it firmly, looking back into his sockets with a firm back and stiff upper lip.

“I’m made of sturdy stuff, Mister Snowdin,” she assured him, and his smile tilted just the tiniest bit, a hum rumbling in his hollow chest as he released her hand and propped his on one of his tool belts.

“sans, sweetheart… no sense in formality between friends, aye?” he encouraged, one of his sockets closing in a wink, and completely against her will, Frisk flushed minutely, blinking and turning her head away to hide it in a faked cough.

She wasn’t sure if he bought it; he seemed to be smiling even more crookedly when she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, but what did she know. Maybe it was the light in the room. Either way, Gerson stepped in at that moment, gruffly clearing his throat and gaining everyone’s attention back.

“Enough schmoozing, skeleton. Shouldn’t you already be below decks, seeing to the engine room?”

Sans shrugged one shoulder, pulling his pipe from between his teeth and tapping it against his forearm almost contemplatively.

“was about to head down. the call for launch hadn’t come yet… saw the benefit in blowing off some steam with my bro,” he replied casually, though there was a twist to his words that made Frisk look back over at him, and it was when she did that she saw the puffs of smoke blowing purposefully out of his eye sockets.

She had to hide a snicker behind her hand (Sans glanced at her from the corner of a smoky socket, his smile growing), while Papyrus, who had retreated back to the nearly clear kitchen, let out an outraged sound, slapping a wooden spoon down on his cutting board.

“That was terrible, Sans,” he reprimanded, fiercely trying to keep his expression flat, but Sans, with a snicker, reinserted his pipe between his teeth and smirked at his brother.

“You love it. You’re smiling,” he observed, something soft and doting wending through his voice at the reminder, and Papyrus, failing again to keep his smile off his face, turned away with a huff, searching deliberately in his ceiling cupboards for something to hide it.

“I am and I’m very angry about it.”

Gerson had clearly had enough of the skeleton monster’s shenanigans, though, and shoved himself away from the table he had been propped against with a groan.

“Alright, alright, enough banter. We’ll be setting off soon. Doctor, if you’d accompany me… and Miss Frisk, you’ll be heading below with Sans here. He needed an assistant, and according to the doctor’s records, you have some knowledge of mechanics. I’m sure ya won’t let us down,” he prompted poignantly, and both Frisk and Sans looked after him with startled expressions, jostling to follow him up the steps to the deck.

“Hey, wait-”

“now hold on a sec there, sir, i don’t-”

Their complaints fell on deaf ears, though, Gerson looking back over his shoulder at the both of them with a grim, hard glare.

“Captain’s orders! Make sure she’s kept busy, Mister Snowdin!” he commanded, tapping his cane on the decktop with finality, and took off for the bow, Alphys, expression pitying, in tow, leaving Sans and Frisk, shoulder to shoulder, staring after him, each as frustrated and beleaguered as the other.

Sans seemed to recover first, heaving a sigh and scratching at the back of his skull before looking over at his new charge.

“…hmph. guess you’re stuck with me then, eh?” he questioned idly, pulling his burnt out pipe from between his teeth and tapping the ashes out so he could stow it away in a pocket on his jacket, and Frisk shrugged stiffly, tossing her bangs from her face with a jerk of her chin.

“Yeah. Looks like it,” she said shortly, and Sans, with a carefree, easy chuckle, bumped her shoulder lightly with a gentle fist, turning on his heel to lead the way below.

“guess we’d better head down then, got a lot to show you. after me, and watch your step. the walkways are a bit dark,” he warned her, ducking down the stairwell that led past the mass sleeping quarters (a slew of hammocks swung with the gentle motion of the ship as it hung in limbo, readying for take-off), and Frisk followed after him, watching his feet as he made his way down a long, pipe and steam filled hallway, various crewmen brushing past them both as they went.

Sans stopped to check meters and flip switches along the way, once or twice banging this pipe or that panel with the handle of a large wrench, and talked as he went, naming and listing things that she had only ever vaguely heard of, and many things she had _never_ heard of, quickly overwhelming her with sheer knowledge and, at least for the moment, distracting her from her mistrust.

Finally, they found their way to the main engine room, where the six large, rocket-fueled motors lay in wait for their engineer’s skill and handling. Sans walked around the first, unbolting a panel and inspecting a trio of filling gauges with a clinical socket.

“so, sweetheart. least this ain’t the worst a fates, mechanic apprentice, yeah? they didn’t stick you with cabin boy. i can work on alternators and solar panels all day, but mopping? i’d throw myself off the edge of the ship,” he remarked conversationally as he watched different colored fluids fill the tiny tanks, fiddling with knobs here and there on the panel, and Frisk, having been looking around the large room with wonderment (she’d only ever worked on hovercraft engines, these were _enormous_ and incredibly complicated…), jolted at his question.

“Hmm. Yeah,” she replied, still unwilling to play along, should he prove more enemy than friend, and Sans, glancing at her curiously from the corner of a socket, quirked a bony brow, pushing the panel back into place on the first engine and moving to the next one.

“somethin’ on your mind there, sweets? no sense chewing on it… spit it out. if we’re working together, we may as well be honest with each other,” he encouraged, unscrewing an identical panel with masterwork precision, and Frisk, considering him in silence for a long moment, shrugged one shoulder, folding her arms across her chest.

“Alright then. I couldn’t help but notice your… makeup.”

His grin was crooked again as he chuckled to himself, turning his skull just enough to show off the smear of oil on his cheekbone.

“a good color, right? the avon ladies always told me i was a winter,” he commented blandly, and Frisk, spluttering, shook her head, thrown off her line of questioning.

“N-no, that’s not-” she began, out of her element completely, and Sans, sending her a calming, patient smile, snickered under his breath.

“i knew what ya meant, frisky. you’ll have to get used to a few quips here and there from me… i’m nothin’ if i ain’t a jokester. you meant the bones, yeah?” he pressed, raising the hand he wasn’t using to showcase his bare forearm, and she nodded, watching the way his wrist moved, curious and slightly distracted.

“Uh, yeah. I’ve never seen a monster like you or your brother before.”

He nodded his understanding, reaching back into one of his tool belts for a long, very thin screwdriver.

“rare breed, ’s all. why, it doesn’t weird you out, does it? i didn’t take ya for the squeamish type, tibia honest, heh,” he snarked, glancing at her with a hopeful smirk, but she held back her smile, bracing herself for her question.

“No… I was only wondering. Just before coming out here, I met a monster that was looking for someone. An old friend of his… but all he could tell me was that he was a skeleton monster. What was that mutt’s name…”

She pretended at thought, and realized, quite suddenly, that she had placed herself in a very vulnerable position with a potentially deadly enemy. She had nothing to defend herself with, was alone with him, in a place no one would be able to hear her scream.

This was very, very stupid.

She could hardly stop now, especially since he had halted what he was doing to turn his attention to her fully, expression unreadable, and so swallowed away her sudden surge of fear, firming her back and staring the skeleton monster down.

“I think it was… Doggo.”

He seemed to consider the name, chewing on it and scrunching his bony brows, before turning back to the panel, feeling again through his tool belts for something.

“doggo? probably met a thousand a them, sugar. dog monsters ain’t exactly the most imaginative when it comes to naming their pups. plus, my bro and i definitely aren’t the only skeleton monsters out there. universe is a big place. wish i could help you more,” he said with a note of sorrow in his tone, and though Frisk wasn’t entirely sure she believed him…

He was proving to be a very good liar if he was indeed the enemy she had been warned against. Better than her measly detective skills could rat out. She would just need to keep a weather eye on him, and watch the things she said. Trust no one, Doggo had said.

Fine with her. She could think of no reason why she would need to trust this monster beyond their roles as master and apprentice.

Sans, still rummaging through his belt, frowned suddenly, and turned away from the panel he was inspecting to direct his attention to the pocket he was plumbing before letting out a heavy sigh and looking up at her, frustration in his gaze.

“damnit, i forgot my calibrator. frisky, think you could take a jaunt down the hall there and grab it for me from the tool closet, top shelf?” he asked, pointing back down the hall they had come down indicatively, and she nodded, hoping she knew what a calibrator was, and traipsed off purposefully.

* * *

The moment Frisk had turned the corner Sans’ smile fell away, brows lowering and expression firming into serious consideration. He fingered the barrel of the laser pistol under the fold of his coat, and cracked his jaw. Too many pointed questions… too much suspicion, too early in the game.

“…she’s a clever one.”

He was going to have to watch her more closely than he thought he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, hope you enjoyed!


	4. Thy Name Is Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk bites off more than she can chew, on more than one front.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
>  http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, showing off all the fantastic pieces of fan art shown to me!  
>  http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

* * *

Deep space was a pit of never-ending night, an abyss of celestial, primordial darkness dotted with stars and wended through with the mists and dusts of bodies both past and present, shattered moons and birthing suns. The shadows seemed almost darker, beneath the swaying decks of the mighty starship that sailed, a beacon of golden light, amongst the reaches far older than the grasps of time, the steaming pipes mere hulking masses of searing metal in the night, the latticed planks underfoot invisible in the pressing dark.

The close, claustrophobic ratways beneath the galleon were all but deserted, in what the departed voyagers knew as early evening, all but the barest of its crew attending supper in the brilliantly lit galley (a few lingered, attending their duties while they awaited their turn at table). Only the hunched, fiercely scowling figure of a human girl sitting bowlegged before what appeared to be tool closet remained, throwing assorted nuts and bolts into a sectioned container with what could only be called acrimony by the light of a single plasma lantern.

She mumbled discordantly under her breath as she worked, blowing sweaty, greasy strands of brown hair from her eyes and picking a spring out of the mess in her stained hands when it pricked her palm, before throwing a dirty look down the long, empty hallway beside her, her stomach rumbling plaintively in the otherwise quiet hallway.

“Damn skeleton...”

In all reality and fairness, Frisk supposed she only had herself to blame for her predicament, though her hunger, soreness, simmering anger, and wounded pride argued against her humility far louder than even her stomach protested, and dumped the remainder of her handful of minute cogs into the container in obvious frustration. She threw her heavy braid over her shoulder with a toss of her chin and folded her arms across her chest, glaring venomously at the toolboxes and assorted bric-a-brac that belonged to her superior in an attempt to belay the tears pricking at her eyes.

No… definitely her fault on this one, though Sans hadn’t had to be so hard on her. She had only been trying to do as she was asked, after all…

And inevitably fallen prey to both bad luck and her own questionable temperament.

* * *

It took more time than she was proud of to even find the tool closet her new boss had sent her off to plumb the depths of far earlier in the day (it was almost completely hidden by a large, steaming pipe on the main thoroughfare of the ratways, and she passed it at least five times before spotting it), much less get the strangely shaped knob to turn. Once she accomplished both, however, getting lost two times and nearly tearing her arm out of socket in the process of gaining entry to the space, she was greeted by one of the most abysmal jumbles of tools, implements, loose screws, splintering shelves, and food wrappers she had ever seen.

It was nearly impossible to find both ends of the extension cords she could see knotted up in heaps on the floor, saying nothing of finding anything the size she assumed the calibrator would be. It certainly wasn’t on the top shelf like he had said.

Or so she’d assumed before deciding she was just a bit too short to judge that for herself and settling on the plan of action that had brought about her current state (or at least been the catalyst).

After glancing around the hallway and the bottom of the “tool closet” (it looked more like all the ships mechanics had thrown all their tools into the first hole they found for the past twenty years) for a stepladder, Frisk scooted her foot onto the lowest shelf, hoping that the bars it was set on would support her weight.

It didn’t creak or anything when she had tested it, so she thought herself in luck, threw all caution to the winds, and mounted the shelving with her whole weight.

She was right on one count, at the very least: the bars supporting the shelves held up just great.

The wood of the shelves themselves, however, were a different matter entirely, and took great exception to her attempting to climb on them. The board she had hoisted herself onto practically disintegrated, dropping her weight out from under her without warning, and, seemingly out of spite, communicated its wrath to the top shelf as well, her grip on it pulling not just it, but a very heavy toolbox, down with her, wreaking havoc on the rest of the shelves on the way down.

Wrenches and electron adjusters and ball peen hammers flew from the closet in a storm of hardwarish fury, bolts and laser lenses and a mostly empty can of WD-40 raining down on her where she fell, balled up to avoid any damage from the occasionally sharp tools that cascaded from the impossible mess of Sans' closet.

One look about the, while dismally lit, very narrow ratway confirmed Frisk’s sinking suspicions when she finally sat up, following the sudden avalanche of appliances, brushing splinters and washers off of her with growing trepidation. Sans’ tools and components had bounced as far as humanly (and inhumanly, given the calisthenics of an apparently very talented pair of wire cutting pliers now hanging from one of the airborne pipelines) possible around the hall, spreading all the way down the causeway as far as she was able to see in both directions and, from what she was able to tell, rolling into corners and crevices and several of the off-shooting rooms as well.

Several members of the crew had already tripped over them as they made their way about the ship on their duties, slipping on screwheads and flipping tools even further down the narrow hallways. Frisk, with a groan and the heels of her hands ground into her eyes, immediately set about gathering together as many of the escaping tools as possible, throwing them haphazardly back into the destroyed closet and scraping together piles and piles of implements with her hands, despairing being forced to tell the skeleton monster of the mess she had made of… well. 

Of his mess.

Her opinion on its state beforehand notwithstanding, the closet was noticeably worse, after her run-in with it, splintered shelving and heaps of disorganized tools settled on the floor of the space, and she doubted very much he would thank her for her tongue in cheek view of it, as much as he seemed to appreciate humor.

Damnit… how was she  _ already _ screwing everything up?

The ship was humming with increasing energy about her during her frantic cleanup (forget trying to find Sans’ calibrator, she was barely able to manage to pick up some of these toolboxes to return them to the closet), the takeoff proceeding uninterrupted above. She had little mind to spare her jealousy that she would miss it, though, consumed as she was with juggling hammers and spools of wire, and barely noticed it beyond her gratefulness that most of the crew had returned to the deck and were no longer stumbling through her catastrophe, glaring at her and making it all the worse.

Surely Sans was missing her by now, wondering where his requested tool was. Would he come look for her? ...should she go find him and tell him what had happened? Maybe he would be understanding.

Logic reasoned that he knew what his closet was like, and was aware that accidents happened. The blighted, prideful part of her that always seemed to just get her in trouble argued that she could still make this right and emerge the victor.

She couldn’t trust him anyway, right? She couldn’t forget Doggo’s warning about the skeleton monster, the “Scourge”. 

...despite him having done nothing to make her think he was an enemy, and had been nothing but friendly to her. 

What did she truly have to go on in the first place? The subspecies of his race, and the word of a likely addled, drunken, nearly dead space-dog that may very well have also been lying to her? Pirates had attacked after his death, true, but he could have brought that on them himself by stealing the map from them and acting the saint. This… this “Scourge” could be nothing more than a phantom he had created to keep his treasure from its rightful owner.

But why bother, after his dusting? Pettiness? Some unknown pirate creed? She had no idea, and it only frustrated her more.

A lot of nonsense, and more nonsensical the more she thought about it, only making her temples throb in the process. Certainly no reason to discriminate. She could trust him insomuch as to assist her with this without stabbing her in a dark corner, that much she was sure of, and struggled up from the ground with a determined air about her, finally relenting in her prideful diligence.

He seemed amiable enough, after all. Surely one mistake wouldn’t change that.

And she had intended to fetch Sans too, fully meaning to march straight back to the engine room and tell him exactly what had happened… had it not been for her confounded curiosity.

She only stopped on her way to retrieve a long-handled torque wrench from a doorway, having to linger a moment to pry it out from under a particularly stubborn doorjamb (how it even got under there in the first place, she’d never know), and meant to continue on her way. She’d only stopped for a few seconds, twenty at  _ most _ .

But it had been enough to spot the group of three crewmen gathered in the back corner of one of the store rooms, very obviously trying not to be seen, talking in low voices conspiratorially, shifty eyes and all.

Odd. They should be extremely busy right now, in the middle of takeoff… what were they talking about, down here in the ratways where no one would overhear them in the bustle?

She knew all too well that it was none of her business, and that she should keep her head down, her nose to the grindstone, and listen to all the good advice Grillby had given her over the years, after the many, many times he had rescued her from holding cells and dire situations of her own making. 

...she really, really wished she could. She wished her curiosity didn’t flare the way it did, that the captain’s words didn’t niggle at the back of her mind at this very moment (“Wouldn’t trust this crew as far as I can throw them…”), but good sense didn’t seem to be her friend today, just as it hadn’t been in the past.

She not only forgot about returning to find Sans, she abandoned her work entirely to sneak further into the store room, ducking down behind a small stack of netting covered crates beside the doorway and straining her ears to attempt to hear the grouping over the growing roar of the ship’s engines.

She couldn’t hear anything besides mutters. She needed to get closer. 

Squinting into the slightly murky darkness (someone had turned down all the lanterns in the room, likely the group in the corner so they wouldn’t be spotted), Frisk scanned the small storeroom for a better vantage point to eavesdrop from, gripping the latticed handle of the torque wrench in her hands tightly and chewing her lower lip nervously.

There, across the room. A tall, wide stack of barrels. If she was quick and quiet, she could make it…

And likely would have, too, if someone hadn’t left a coil of rope on the ground, just for her to stumble over her.

The crashing of not just her weight, but the heavy torque wrench, onto the open floor more than caught the attention of the crew in the corner, and they, to a one, jumped and turned towards her with glares, bared teeth, and half-drawn weapons, wide-eyed and shocked by the noise and her sudden appearance.

They calmed considerably when they saw who the intruder on their private conversation was, sneering and relaxing as Frisk, humiliated and petrified, picked herself and her wrench back up, but one of the monsters, one eye clouded with disease and horselike mouth askew with displeasure, surged forward on a scaled tail and jabbed a forefinger at her, musclebound biceps bulging in his anger.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing over there, human?” he growled, advancing on the chagrined girl and knocking the looped lengths of rope she had upset in her fall out of the way, and Frisk, swallowing heavily and breathing shallowly (crap crap crap), let out a shaky scoff, waving the heavy wrench in her grasp and glancing at the hippocampus from the corners of her eyes as she attempted to turn and leave.

What was he sweating so much for? It wasn’t that hot down here… he smelled  _ hideous _ ...

“Picking up some tools that I dropped. Mind letting me get back to it? I’m sure you all have jobs you need to be doing too,” she excused, shrugging her shoulders and jerking her head out to the hallway in an indication of her intent, and though the monster (likely not a brain surgeon) looked appeased, his brows creasing and his gaze moving up to the ceiling, as though he had forgotten something he was supposed to do, another of the crew, a spider monster she would have called pretty but for the seemingly permanent simper on her face, let out a scathing snicker, looking her up and down with disdain.

“Spying, more like. Sneaking around like a dirty little bilge rat~” she giggled, hiding her fanged mouth behind a hand and propping two others on her hip, and Frisk, beside the stack of nets and crates she had been using as cover, froze in place, her braid swaying past her with her halted motion.

She should have just let it go. She should have taken the abuse, and had done with it.

But if her curiosity was one thing that had always gotten her in trouble… her temper was the other. She wasn’t about to let these assholes push her around this entire voyage, not for the sake of  _ peace _ . So what if she was human? She could hold her own. She had before, and she would again.

Her rage boiled over in the time it took for her to spin on her heel, her glare poisonous and livid. Her smile was small and hard, and her eyes flashed in her wrathful anger, her knuckles white around the handle of the wrench in her hand.

They wanted to play like that? Then play she would.

“Says the people sneaking around whispering in dark corners. Doesn’t look like I’m the one that has something to hide,” she shot back, her entire body shaking but her back straight and her jaw hard, firm and strong, and the crew, all three of them, stared back at her in shock for a moment, obvious fear and distress on their faces as they glanced at each other warily.

So they  _ had _ been talking about something worth listening to. Frisk would have smiled if she weren’t trying to look fierce.

The seahorse monster was the first one to rebound, by some miracle, shaking himself from his stupor with difficulty (being slapped multiple times on the upper arm by the spider must have helped) and folding his arms across his thick chest in an attempt at haughtiness that only succeeded in making him look uncomfortable.

“You trying to say something,  _ rat _ ? If not, keep your eyes on the ground and your nose in your own business,” he derided, but Frisk, riding high on her victory, threw all caution to the winds, casting her own disparaging look over the monster before her and raising a condescending brow.

“It's nothing your body odor doesn't say for me.”

He had the gall to look offended, drawing his head back and letting out a whinnying gasp (as well as sniffing, at least in his own mind, covertly at his armpits), and the single outworlder in the group, a small, sluglike being in an oversized hat and even larger overcoat, peered up at her through his stalked eyelets, glaring threateningly from the level of her knees.

“Are you deaf, human? Or jus’ stupid?” he croaked at her, and she snorted back at him, swinging the wrench in her hand and gearing up for the tension she could see building in the crewmen’s bodies.

“You'd know about that, wouldn't you?” she quipped, rolling her shoulders and popping her neck as the adrenaline surged, the anger in her opponents all too clear, and the spider monster broke first, hissing in absolute fury from behind her cohorts, her magenta exoskeleton flushing dark fuschia in humiliation and outrage.

“You slimy little  _ whore _ ,” she spat, cracking the knuckles on all four of her hands, and pushed the other two forward, pointing indicatively at Frisk as she did so.

“ _ End her. _ ”

The slug creature was easy to avoid, and even easier to kick away into an untroublesome corner, thankfully, spinning quickly out of control on his own trail of slime; the seahorse monster was a bigger problem, and was far angrier, after her jab about his hygiene, apparently, but he didn’t hold up well to a jab to the abdomen from the torque wrench, and went down like a ton of bricks remarkably easily, whimpering and holding onto his abdomen and his hairdo with watery eyes.

And she was feeling pretty proud of herself, too, until the spider monster jumped her while she wasn’t looking, knocking both her weapon out of her hand and her head against the wall so hard she almost blacked out.

Frisk was left both defenseless and breathless, the grunt of pain that bubbled behind her lips soundless in her state, and felt more than saw herself being lifted bodily from the ground and into the air where she had fallen in a daze, notched claws locked around her throat holding her up against the same wall that had brained her.

Opening her eyes did little to aid her; her field of vision was very limited, capable only of seeing the victorious visage of the spider monster inches from her face, another set of claws posed threateningly a centimeter in front of her nose.

“Nothing to say now, dearie? Maybe we should rip that tongue out of your head, save you the trouble of ever saying anything aga-” the monster began to gloat, her smile wide and bloodthirsty, and behind her, Frisk could hear the approach of the other two crewmen, cruel chuckles supporting the spider’s plot.

But she didn’t get to finish her threats, or enact her vengeance, whatever she chose to do to her in exchange for such humiliation as vague insults. Something stole her words right from her painted lips, ending them with a gasp of pain.

Frisk had never seen an insectoid carapace actually lose color the way the spider woman’s did as two of her free appendages were twisted halfway up her own back, cracking and squeezing in a shimmering casing of frightening, electric blue energy Frisk’s hazy, adrenaline-fueled mind could only term magic; her lavender and rose puffed face paled to a sickly bruising as her beady black eyes, all five of them, filmed in significant agony, flying wide even as their scarlet irises contracted.

The spider monster’s neat bob swung about her eyes as she whipped her head around to find the perpetrator, her fangs bared and beading with a magenta liquid Frisk was sure had to be venom, but seized suddenly into complete stillness, her fingers closing even tighter around Frisk’s throat (she choked slightly, kicking her heels against the wall and pulling against the spider monster’s hand) when she found her apparent assailant leaning casually against the doorframe of the room, one boot crossed over the other and arms folded across his chest nonchalantly. Even his smile looked unassuming, blithe and carefree…

Only the burning orb of magic floating in his left socket, cobalt and smelted gold, and the energy encompassing his skeletal hands gave away his involvement at all, sending creeping shadows and unearthly smoke spreading from his form that sent an involuntary shiver through all present in the room.

Having gained everyone present’s attention inescapably (the spider’s cackling cronies had fallen markedly, ostentatiously silent, skittering away from the skeleton monster with what appeared to be fear in their eyes), Sans, with a shrug of one shoulder, pushed himself off of the doorframe with an ease that put to shame napping cats, strolling into the room and looking over the situation with an appraising, unimpressed brow raised.

His smile never wavered, but it no longer looked amused. Now it looked  _ dangerous _ , like some sort of warning.

“hey muffet... you ever hear the one about the spider that lost a leg?”

With a twitch of the fingers on one of his glowing hands that Frisk barely caught (she was now struggling for air; the spider’s grip hadn’t lessened any, and was crushing her throat), Sans constricted his magical grip on her captor’s arms once again, twisting them further up her back and yanking a squeal of pain from the monster that would have made the human smile if she hadn’t been gasping for breath.

“they tell me he just wasn’t in good  _ standing _ in the community after that. be a real shame to see that happen to you.”

The pain, and the less than joking threat, was finally enough of a cue for her, apparently; the spider dropped Frisk entirely, twisting away from her to attempt to release herself from the magical armlock being inflicted on her, and in doing so left the human girl to fall the two feet to the ground she had been suspended, incapable of supporting herself after her near asphyxiation.

She braced herself for the impact, too, flinching into a half-formed ball and squeezing her face into an unattractive scrunch of expectant pain, but the fall never came.

Instead, the oddest sensation of being caught by what felt like a bundle of sticks inside a burlap sack overwhelmed her senses, combining with the scents of ozone, machine oil, tobacco, whiskey, and ketchup to confuse her beyond her capacity to understand. 

Her head was spinning, acclimating again to receiving air. Her eyes were blurry, tears obscuring her vision that she fiercely blinked away in defiance of the pain in her throat and the back of her head. She could barely think, clinging to the object that seemed to have saved her from crashing humiliatingly to the floor as she attempted to right herself and regain her bearings.

She must be really, really out of it… it nearly felt like it was clinging to her too, holding her up almost  _ gently _ by the waist. As far as she remembered, there hadn’t even been anything to break her fall near the altercation… nothing besides some barrels and piles of rope. Nothing that felt like this.

Had she broken one of the barrels?

“ease up, frisky... keep much more of that up, and i’m gonna start gettin’ ideas here,” the bundle of sticks muttered to her, shifting her in its grip and letting out a quiet chuckle at its own tongue in cheek innuendo, and it was only then that Frisk realized exactly what her savoir had indeed been, though her mind told her it was impossible (how could he have crossed the rest of the room so fast? He’d been ten feet away…).

Sure as the rain in spring, though, that was Sans’ oil stained shirt under her nose when she blinked away the rest of the tears clinging stubbornly to her lashes, and that was his barrel chest she was clinging to like a lifeline, her fingers pressing the material of the rough cotton between his ribs in her fervor, and his arm, surprisingly thick and strong, around her back and waist, his hand settled on her hip, holding her up against his side securely.

That was his smile, the slice of maligned distemper under the shadowy brim of his hat, and his narrowed, lambent gaze, focused on Muffet as she finally seemed to wrestle herself free of her confines (though, given the fading magic around Sans’ fingertips, he had likely let her go), rubbing at her now free forearms and casting a narrow, wary look back at the skeleton monster from the distance she had fled.

“Sans, please, you-” she began shakily, oozing with sugary sweet sycophancy, but Sans cut her off with a flat glare and a scuff of his boot against the rough-hewn floorboards, casting a warning look around the entire room as he spoke.

The intimidating, crackling orb of magic in his left socket hadn’t faded yet, and all present seemed to hold it in due reverence.

“there a good reason you were choking out my assistant?” he demanded bluntly, returning his gaze to the spider monster at the same moment as he adjusted his grasp on Frisk (she hadn’t even noticed she’d been holding onto him even tighter, so hard his ribs were starting to bruise the inside of her arms, and had attempted to pull away minutely despite her remaining dizziness, but his strengthened hold, the tiny shake of his head, discouraged her), and Muffet, shrinking back again with a pout and a sour expression, sent a poisonous glance to Frisk, clenching her hands around her forearms haplessly.

“Well, she... but...”

He cut her off again, raising his chin in an assuming nod.

“i didn't think so. so please nothing; let’s back off and call it a day, before we have a real fight on our hands, hmm?” he warned pleasantly, his hard smile unwavering, his gaze unmoving and cold, and Muffet held it only a moment longer before bowing her head in a nod, though her thwarted bitterness lingered in her expression, her many eyes darting up and down the skeleton monster before her, as well as the human he was supporting.

“...of course. Whatever you say,  _ sir _ …” she spat, and her cronies muttered along with her, chastised by the remarkably commanding presence of the engineer.

She’d been right in thinking there was more to him than his charm and wit… he clearly commanded a great deal of respect among the crew. For what reason, she didn’t know… but she was more than grateful to him for coming to her aid, and using it to save her.

Frisk didn’t miss the sly glance Muffet darted down to Sans’ hand, though, rested all but on her posterior, and despite the necessity of its presence, the innocence of him having caught her and her thankfulness for him having done so, she immediately scrambled away from him, stumbling from the persistent throbbing in her head and ignoring his concerned glance after her, his hand following after her to steady her as she slunk away to brace herself against a pile of hard tack barrels.

And not a moment too soon, at least in her books; there was a kerfuffle in the hallway outside the storeroom, a great deal of slamming and stomping and shouting (“All you layabouts get movin’! We’re shovin’ off, there’s no standing room aboard! Heave to, lads and lasses!”), before several figures hurried past the doorway, obviously on their way to the deck, and Gerson, new safari hat sitting proudly still on top his head and beady eyes keen in the darkness, peered into the room.

He looked around at them all suspiciously, the upset crates and rope and the crew (and Frisk herself) nursing their injuries, and puffed up in indignant fury, tapping his way into the store room and snapping his claws at the lanterns impatiently. They flared obediently in a flare of plasma, narrowing every eye in the room as they attempted to adjust to the sudden brightness, but the tortoise monster was uninterested in their discomfort and groans and clacked his maw in dissatisfaction.

“And what's all this then, hmm? A brawl, when we're about to shove off? Never in my entire life have I seen such conduct!” he chided, pounding the tip of his cane against the floorboards and looking down the end of his wrinkly nose at them all, and while most of the crewmen looked suitably cowed (Muffet only seemed to seethe more, clenching her fists and turning away), Sans grinned and bent to retrieve his torque wrench from where it had been knocked out of Frisk’s hands, tapping it against his leg and leaning casually against the wall he stood beside.

“a small altercation, sir, some ruffled feathers... i’ve settled it already. no harm, no fowl, heh,” he joked, seeming to be at complete ease, and Gerson sent him a sharp look, breathing huffily out through his nostrils before turning back to the crew (and eyeing Frisk far more harshly than she felt she deserved).

“Be that as it may! There's to be no fighting on board this ship, not now, not ever! The next offender'll be confined to the brig for the rest of the trip, is that understood?” he barked, his gaze sharp and his words final, and all about the storeroom, the crew bowed their heads in nods of assent.

“Aye sir.”

“Yessir!”

“Aye...”

Appeased, at least for the moment, the grumpy reptile pointed imperiously out the doorway with his cane, indicating the crew come along with him to finish up their takeoff, and clattered along behind them, his berating voice carrying down the hallway behind him as they went.

Sans waved the group off with completely unnecessary applause, his wrench tucked under his arm and his expression edging on banality.

“finely done, mister gerson, a simply shell job. won't happen again!” he called as the first mate’s scaled tail disappeared around the corner, leaning out into the hallway to watch him hurry the crew away, out of sight, before he sighed, his shoulders slumping and his smile lowering.

He shook his head minutely, raising a hand to rub it over his closed sockets, before he turned to where Frisk was still leaned against the stack of barrels, massaging her head and testing her balance. 

Looked like she was going to be okay… her head still hurt, as did her throat, but she could walk, at least.

Better than being dead.

Sans tapping her shoulder with the narrow end of the torque wrench, his expression almost carefully blank, brought her crashing back to reality, though; he indicated her person in general with a nod of his head, the gently glowing lights in his sockets focusing on the bruising on her neck.

“you alright there, frisk?” he queried, his free hand sliding into a pants’ pocket, and Frisk, shrugging one shoulder and immediately regretting it ( _ gods _ that hurt), made a sound of affirmation, pushing off of the pile of barrels and straightening her jacket.

“Y-yeah. She got me good, but I’ll be okay,” she reassured him, giving him a shaky smile, and he gave her a narrow, half-smile back before swinging the wrench in his grasp upwards to settle on his shoulder, his sockets darkening and his demeanor tightening.

“good, good… then ya mind tellin’ me what you were doing all the way down here, throwing fists with the crew, when i asked you to do something for me? we’re in the middle of takeoff, and i need your help, not you gettin’ in trouble,” he asked pointedly, his smile now completely absent in the wake of a displeased glower, and Frisk, victorious bubble bursting in her chest, wilted like a moon flower under the third sun of Proteus One.

He was mad at her. Of course he was… she’d been stupid again. Ignored her best instincts and gone and fucked everything up. It… it only made sense for him to be mad at her, she was inconveniencing him in his job already just being here, and  _ now… _

Now she’d disappointed him too, why did she always  **_do_ ** this...

“I was doing it, but I… I dropped some things, and those assholes were… they made a big deal out of nothing! I was just-” she excused as quickly as she could, her cheeks reddening and her head pounding and her eyes misting ( _ no _ …  **_no_ ** , don’t you dare cry…), but he cut her off with a put-upon sigh, rolling the lights in his sockets and turning on his heel to exit the storeroom.

She stumbled after him, her heart in her throat and her words tangling on her tongue, but he was already speaking again, turning down the hall that would lead back to his tool closet.

“alright, alright. i don’t have time for you making excuses all day…” he grunted, shaking his head and tapping the handle of his wrench on the broad expanse of his shoulder… then skidded to a halt, slipping slightly on a loose screw as the inside of his closet came into view. He obviously wasn’t pleased, and turned to her with a parted jaw, his sockets wide and his free hand extended to the abominable mess before him.  

“or making more work for me, what did you  _ do _ to my  **_closet_ ** ?!” he exclaimed, speechless as he stared at her one moment, then turned back to attempt to absorb the fullness of her mistake, reaching up to push the brim of his tricorn hat back in agitation.

Frisk was bereft of explanation. She looked like an absolute fool, getting into a fight instead of coming to find him right off the bat, messing up the one job he had given her, and she knew it. She had nothing to offer him, fighting just to keep her agitated tears at bay so she wouldn't humiliate herself  _ more _ , and could only fidget, pulling at the end of her braid and staring at the toes of his boots.

It was happening all over again. She hated herself when she got like this, she couldn’t think right… it was just like after that spider bitch had sniped at her with that insult, her insides were starting to boil…

“I… I was trying to find… It was a mess already, what’d you leave it like that for? How’d you expect me to find anything?” she muttered under her breath, turning away and kicking at the screw he had slipped on, and Sans, bent at the waist to attempt to pick what looked like a seven-pronged protractor out of the heap of tools, froze where he stood, turning his head to stare at her.

He stood back to his full height, somehow managing to tower over her despite the bare inch or so he stood over her, and  _ glared _ , sliding the odd tool into his toolbelt and cracking his jaw.

“why don’t you say that a little louder, girl. didn’t quite hear ya,” he invited, his tone the most unfriendly and hard she had heard it thus far, even when he had been facing down Muffet in her defense, and though her stomach turned, her blood running cold in her veins, Frisk’s mouth opened before she could even stop it… before she could even comprehend that he had given her an opportunity to keep quiet and keep out of more trouble.

“I  _ said _ , if  **_you_ ** hadn’t left it such a mess, none of this would have happened!” she all but shouted at him, glaring right back, hands fisted at her sides and chest heaving and hair falling in her eyes wildly, and from where he stood, Frisk  _ heard _ Sans’ jaw clench, his teeth grinding together in obvious restraint.

At his sides, his own hands fisted, the knuckles popping audibly, and in his sockets, the lights burnt out almost entirely. 

The hand that still held the torque wrench rose, slowly and painstakingly, and indicated the tool closet beside him, his grimace of upset twitching.

“...until i come to collect you, i want you out of the way and doing something constructive with yourself. re-organize my tool closet- that  _ you _ messed up, mind you- and i don't want to find you having wandered off again and gotten in anyone else's way,” he growled, his tone so low and threatening that it immediately brooked no arguments…

But Frisk wasn’t in the mind to consider fair warnings. She immediately bristled, her lips popping open at the unfairness (complete fairness) of his demand, and also pointed at the closet, her hand shaking in her fury. 

“It wasn't even organized in the first place! I couldn't even  _ find _ that thing you were looking for, your “shelves” were more rickety than Mister Gerson-” she complained, all but stomping her foot in her denial, but with her refusal, Sans’ patience apparently snapped.

He tossed the wrench he held into the closet with a raucous clang, cutting off Frisk’s words entirely, and stepped into her personal space threateningly, bending to bring them nasal ridge to nose. 

His sockets were entirely empty now, and  _ terrifying _ to look into.

“organized chaos, but organized nonetheless, and you're gonna put it back to rights, or we're gonna have bigger problems than your runaway mouth... i'll have you cleanin' the grease out of every single bolthole in the hold for the rest of the damn voyage with a  _ toothpick _ ,” he warned, the snarl rippling through his words and the magic sparking deep in his black sockets more than enough to steal the fight right out of her.

He lingered only a few seconds, but they seemed to last an eternity, and when he stepped back again, the lights returning to his sockets and the atmosphere lessening dramatically, Frisk suddenly realized she had stopped breathing and took a gasping breath through her mouth, trembling and looking up at the skeleton monster shakily.

He glared back expectantly, folding his arms across his chest.

“you understand me?”

She could only hold his gaze a second longer before looking away, again, down to his boots. They were so beaten up… years of hard work, unsullied by some silly, puffed up human girl that just got in his way and talked back to him.

What the hell was she even doing...

“Yes s-sir...” she whispered, her voice breaking and her throat closing and her stomach curdling (just go away… just go away, leave her  _ alone _ ), and he looked her over calculatingly, as though judging if she was really giving up or not, before jerking his head at the closet and stepping aside to give her room to get to it.

“good. get to it,” he directed, and once she had settled herself on the floor, picking through the enormous pile of tools and implements that lay before her, he turned on his heel, with one last, short look back at her bent figure, and disappeared back down the ratway, consumed with his own duties.

* * *

Frisk hadn’t seen him again, either, not for the seven hours she’d been buried to her elbows in greasy cogs and plasma fuel canisters and rusty tools that likely hadn’t seen the light of day in over a decade. She’d thought she would when he went up to dinner, but of all the crew that had stomped by, occasionally kicking her and more than occasionally mocking her, he hadn’t been one of them.

Did he eat, as a skeleton? Had she just missed him? 

But more importantly, was he just going to leave her here all night? ...she supposed she deserved that, after how rude she’d been to him. She still didn’t think it was fair of him to demand that she clean all of this up, not when it had been as messy as it had been before…

But she had definitely made it worse, and likely would have made his job harder, saying nothing of potentially damaging some of his tools.

She owed him better than blaming him for her mistakes. Especially after he had saved her. When (if, at this point… maybe he was angry enough to let her rot down here…) he came to let her go, she’d have to say something to him, let him know that she-

“Sans was pretty tough on you, hmm?”

Frisk nearly dropped the toolbox she was hefting onto the next to highest shelf in the closet right on her head, startled almost out of her boots by the unexpected, slightly too loud voice right beside her ear. With an abnormally large jolt and a quiet squeal of alarm that she immediately regretted making, she turned her head, eyes wide and searching, to find the sheepish, awkwardly smiling face of the cook hanging over her in the dark, his sockets crinkled in embarrassed chagrin. 

Frisk couldn’t help but smile back up at him, once her heart had settled in her chest, and finished pushing the toolbox up onto the shelf before turning to him, huffing for breath, hands on her hips…

Before looking around herself and realizing he must be waiting to get past the three remaining toolboxes she still had set out in the middle of the hallway, and scrambled to push them back into the bottom of the much cleaner closet, now fitted with “new” shelving (some boards she had found in the store room she’d gotten her ass kicked in) and bereft of the drifts of trash and disorganized tools it had once possessed.

At least in the purplish light of her lantern, it looked much better. She’d have to see what Sans thought, when he finally took pity on her.

“Oh! Papyrus, I didn't hear you coming! Let me get all this stuff out-” she began, heaving against the handle of the heaviest of the boxes to fit it back into the bottom corner of the closet, but the tall, gangling skeleton, his expression brightening at the sound of his name (was… was he surprised she had remembered?), merely waved a gloved hand, holding aloft the other, which bore what seemed to be a bowl and a spoon.

“No no, you are fine where you are! I was actually bringing you some dinner. My brother said he had had to punish you and that you wouldn’t be coming up tonight, but that is no reason to miss a meal!” he exclaimed, beaming and holding out the bowl, which was now revealed to be full of not just a thick, delicious smelling stew, but two biscuits stacked to the side, butter melting on their tops.

Frisk paused, blinking at the offering, and then the monster himself, for a moment, astounded by the offering, but hesitated only that second before standing, wiping her filthy hands on her pants, and accepting the bowl and spoon from him graciously.

It was wonderfully warm on her abused palms, and smelled  _ divine _ . Her mouth was watering just from looking at it, and her empty belly rumbling plaintively.

Very few people had ever been so nice to her for no reason. Many would have let her starve.

“...that's very kind of you, Papyrus, thank you,” she muttered soulfully, looking up at him with watery eyes, then plopped herself down on the lid of the toolbox she had been attempting to move, immediately setting in on the stew with relish. The skeleton monster’s smile only widened at her thanks, his hands clasping in front of him and his sockets shining.

“No problem! ...I had been hoping I would see you in the mess hall anyway, I very much looked forward to talking to you. I have known very few humans, and they have always fascinated me. Perhaps... if it is not offensive… you could tell me about yourself?” he prompted, bouncing hopefully on the toes of his meticulously shined boots, and Frisk, her mouth full of broth and flaky biscuit, looked up at him curiously, her brows furrowing and her heart softening.

He… wanted to know about  _ her _ ? There really wasn’t all that much to her, nothing that would interest anyone (it never had before, why would it now…), but if he really wanted to know… if that was all he wanted, in return for such kindness… who was she to deny him?

There was something about him that she just couldn’t seem to say no to.

Swallowing her mouthful of food almost regretfully (it really was a delight,  _ god _ ), Frisk smiled up at Papyrus encouragingly, tapping her spoon against her bowl indicatively at the same time.

“I'll tell you anything you want, buddy. This is  _ delicious _ , by the way. My father is pretty handy around an oven, but he's got nothing on you,” she praised, hiding a burp behind her hand before shoveling more stew into her mouth unceremoniously, accompanied by a complete half of one of the biscuits, and Papyrus practically  _ glowed _ , adjusting his neckerchief almost nervously at the praise.

“Well! Thank you, human! And if you wish, in return, I can tell you anything you would like to know about monsters! I do not know if you had many on your planet...” he queried delicately, looking about himself on the floor for a moment before finding a spot to seat himself and sliding down the length of one of the pipes beside the tool closet, and Frisk hummed, sending him a smile and finishing the last of the biscuits he had brought her.

“You can call me Frisk, Papyrus. And I actually grew up around them. My dad... he's not technically my dad, but he's taken care of me forever, after my parents died... well, he's a fire elemental, and he’s kept me around a lot of monsters since I was really young. A lot came into the bar he owns… owned,” she trailed off, correcting herself sorrowfully at the reminder of why she was here (oh Grillby… she’d do better. No more mistakes like today. She’d behave herself from now on), and at her side, the skeletal monster, crossing his long legs and propping his chin on his knuckles in rapt attention, made a sound of realization.

“How fortuitous! Though... ah. My sympathies, for your parents... I never knew mine either, not after my father-” he started, his gaze far away, directed into the darkness over her shoulder, but he got no further than that. The clearing of a throat came from the darkness behind him, and the abrupt tap of a boot rang in the shadows of the before abandoned ratway.

The curve of a smile grew from the blackness of the pressing night, skeletal and menacing in the wavering light of the lantern, and sent a chill down Frisk’s spine.

“so this is where you ran off to,” a deep voice mused, breaking the tense atmosphere resoundingly, and from the shadows stepped Sans, hands inserted casually in his striped pants’ pockets and sockets crinkled in amusement as he looked over their little gathering; his smile lowered slightly, when he met Frisk’s eye, and she immediately lowered her head, scrambling up to return to pushing the remaining toolboxes back into the closet with burning cheeks and a quickly abandoned bowl, stuffed out of sight behind the closet’s door.

She really, really hoped Papyrus wasn’t going to get in trouble for feeding her… she’d take responsibility for it, she’d say she asked for food if Sans was angry, she didn’t want the kind, generous monster to suffer for her sake…

Papyrus, from his position, though, seemed supremely unconcerned by the appearance of his brother, and had only jumped slightly at his abrupt arrival; he now waved a welcoming hand, though his sockets narrowed suspiciously as he watched the shorter monster approach.

“Sans! Done already? You can’t have been up there eating more than five minutes...” he thought aloud, tapping a gloved finger against his jaw and shooting a glance at Frisk’s hurried motions with something like concern in the tilt of his bony brow, but Sans only shrugged and winked, reaching out and flicking a finger against his brother’s neckerchief.

“i was starved, scarfed it right down. but i actually have a message for ya. captain was lookin' for you,” he revealed, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the deck, and Papyrus didn’t seem to even notice his brother’s joke (Frisk did, and snorted a little to herself from inside the closet), in the wake of Sans’ announcement. He seemed to deflate just the tiniest bit, in fact, letting out a tiny sigh and quirking his mouth to the side.

“Oh goodness. It is that time, isn't it.”

“hey, you volunteered for it.”

He sighed again, and shot a weary look to Frisk, who had finally managed to heave the last of the toolboxes back into the closet and stood, panting and curious, leaning against the wall beside the pair of chatting monsters, attempting to catch her breath and absorb the conversation going on without her.

“The Captain is fond of sparring, hu- Frisk. She needed someone hardy to practice battle with, and asked me if I would be her partner! It is a great honor, and I enjoy it very much. She is very... exuberant, though. We just trained this morning, for the stars' sakes!” he complained, though, at the same moment, pushed himself up from the ground and back to his feet, and Sans, with a crooked grin, patted his brother’s back in obvious condolence, shaking his head in mock dolefulness.

“best not keep her waiting, eh?” he suggested, and Papyrus nodded dutifully, brushing the seat of his neat trousers off to rid them of any debris before, with a broad smile, he turned to Frisk, sockets gleaming with the depth of his sincerity.

“Best not, I agree. It was wonderful talking to you, Frisk, I look forward to doing so again!”

And with that, he was off, trotting down the ratway so quickly that within seconds, he was out of sight, clomping up the out of sight stairs audibly. Both Frisk and Sans watched him go, Frisk’s eyebrows raised and Sans’ head shaking, and once he had gone, Sans let out a tiny sigh, reaching up to tip his hat back and scratch under its brim.

“i’ve never known where he gets the energy from. certainly not me,” he chuckled, tsking and straightening the lapels of his stained shirt, and Frisk smiled indulgently, folding her arms across her chest and tilting her head.

“Is he always like that?” she asked curiously, and Sans shot her a curious look, as enigmatic as it was judging.

“always. and he's the best for it,” he murmured, one brow bone quirked, and Frisk had to agree, nodding immediately and letting out a chuckle as she stared down the hall where the monster had disappeared, his presence already missed. He’d been the best experience she’d had on this ship so far, and by far one of the nicest people she’d known in her life. She truly looked forward to getting to know him better.

“Agreed. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like him before. I’m glad to have met him,” she clarified, more to herself than anyone else, and across the hall from her, Sans’ expression melted, his hardened sockets softening, his smile twisting up at one edge, almost fond. 

He looked her up and down once, in a moment of silent contemplation, before, with a roll of his shoulders and a shifting of the coat tied around his waist, he turned to the closet standing open behind them both, bending to pick up the lantern from the ground so he could have a look at it.

He made an impressed sound in the back of his skull as he looked it over, nodding his head, and when Frisk turned to watch his inspection, he sent her a smile, shaking the lantern in his hand at the closet to indicate it.

“i'm honestly surprised. didn't expect you to finish it so fast. looks pretty good, too. nice job,” he complimented, pushing the door closed with the toe of his boot, and Frisk, biting her lower lip and nodding, looked away from him while hung the lantern on the wall and twisted the knob to get the door completely closed. 

It took her a moment to realize what he was doing, the olive branch he had extended, the silence he was leaving her, to do with as she wished. She could pick their argument back up where they had left it. She more that could. She could stay bitter with him, despite the right he had been in. Or… or she could swallow her cursed pride, and be the better person that Grillby believed she was, and apologize like she knew she should.

She knew what would forward the future she had come out here to achieve. Hard as it may be… she  _ had _ to start being better.

Frisk hesitated for a moment, hands fiddling behind her back and mind whirling in tangled knots of possible beginnings, before she swallowed her nervousness and spoke, kicking her boot against the bolts that secured the pipe she stood beside to the latticed ratway flooring. 

“...uh. So, I wanted... What you did earlier... You didn't have to, I know, and I appreciate that you stepped in. So thanks. And I'm sorry, for, you know. Snapping at you. Being disrespectful. Was really rude of me, especially after you helped me, and… you know. Yeah,” she fumbled, flushing darker and darker the longer she stuttered her way through the first real apology she had given in she had no idea how long, and Sans, having turned back to face her when she started speaking, shrugged his shoulders with ease, their disagreement rolling off him as quickly as his smile grew on his face.

He leaned one shoulder against the door he stood beside, sending her a sly wink, and dug into his coat for a moment before withdrawing his pipe.

“don’t mind keepin’ an eyesocket out for you, sweets… but you've got a bit of a fightin' spirit in you, huh? don't know when to back down,” he prompted, sliding the well-loved instrument between his teeth and lighting it with a flick of his fingers, a spark of that electric blue magic, and Frisk, watching him curiously as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, sobered, quirking her lips to the side and darting her eyes down, to the side.

“Grillby says I get that from my mom. She had to lose to the cancer eventually, though. Got the stubbornness from my dad... wouldn't listen when they said not to go through the Satellite Belt. The asteroids won that fight,” she muttered stoically, folding her arms tight across her chest in a gruff attempt to hold her feelings inside,  _ everything _ inside, and the skeletal being across from her winced, his brows lowering in understanding.

“ahh... 'm sorry, frisky. rough stuff, losin' your parents young. changes a person,” he empathized, nodding and sucking in a breath of whatever it was he was smoking (it smelled sweet, almost hypnotically so), and Frisk huffed, turning away and leaning against the pipe beside her.

Her chest hurt. She hated talking about this shit, it always got her like this… it never changed anything, it never helped, it only made her realize how much her life had sucked.

“It's whatever. I'm doing fine.”

Sans raised a bony brow, puffing out a perfect ring of cerulean smoke, and considered the human girl’s back for a long moment, her swaying braid and shivering shoulders and her bowed head all; he seemed to consider leaving it be, shaking his head and twisting his jaw, before pushing away from the closet door he was leaned against and strolling over to her, swaying around her shoulder to meet her gaze.

“which is why you're running off into deep space, right? got all your ducks in a row, just a harmless hobby.”

She met his gaze, holding it for a long, unsure second, before looking away again, down to the ground at her feet.

“...right.”

He scoffed at her wavering tone, her clear avoidance, and stood up straight to puff at his pipe, walking around her to stare her down expectantly, the tails of his coat sweeping around his legs and one arm crossing across his chest. The other rose to pull his pipe from his mouth, pointing it at her meaningfully. 

“if i know anything, sweetheart, it's when people are bullshitting me. so why don't you give it to me straight? get it off your mind,” he pressed, blowing a slow stream of smoke through his nasal cavity and knocking a fine dusting of what she assumed were tobacco leaves from the cup of his pipe to the latticed flooring, and Frisk, taking a long, shuddering breath, looked up at him through her lashes, hesitant and slow.

Why did he want to know? Why was he pushing so hard? ...he couldn’t really care, could he?

It was unlikely, and a small part of her, the part that held onto Doggo’s warning with a vice-like grip, warned her not to give into the welcoming tilt of his smile, the quiet, open expectancy in his soft gaze… but the part that had longed for understanding for her entire life spoke louder, screaming in her ears for a compatriot in her battle for conquest in a galaxy that simply did not want her.

So she lifted her chin, her jaw set and her eyes glittering with unshed tears, and let it all loose, everything she’d never said before, to a monster that was practically a stranger, hoping somehow, some way, he would either understand… or he would be driven away like the rest, and just leave her be.

“I'm a fuckup, okay? I've never done a thing right in my life, no one but my dad has ever expected anything of me and I just keep letting him down. I keep screwing everything up, like I did today. I couldn't stand it. So when Alphys decided to come out on this... tech expedition, I came with her. See if I could find something out about myself out here,” she said in a rush, her hands flexing at her sides and her throat raw with the expulsion of her emotions; she wiped furiously at the tears on her lashes, tossing her chin to clear her head and throwing her braid about in her haste, and then stilled, breathing heavily and staring down at her hands, streaked with saline and dirt and grease.   

“The stars... always called to me. I... feel like they have something more for me than just disappointing the only one that's ever cared. There’s something  _ out _ here for me, and I want to find it, more than anything,” she whispered, clenching her fingers slowly, tightly, into fists, and before her, watching a single, sparkling tear fall down her soft cheekbone, Sans’ smile fell from his face, his sockets widening and his phalanges tightening around his pipe.

There was something almost like familiarity in his gaze, as he watched her, something harrowed and regretful in the crease of his brow, but it was gone long before she would ever see it, his pipe placed again between his teeth, his glib grin back in its rightful place under his jaunty hat.

He looked far more tired now, though, worn and weary, and let out an audible sigh, pinching the bridge of his nasal cavity and shaking his skull before coughing lightly and meaningfully, pulling the girl from her contemplations. He didn’t draw attention to her wet cheeks, her reddened eyes or dripping nose, but instead let out a quiet huff of breath, decorated with a puff of smoke.

“well. if that's the case... it's a good thing the captain stuck you with me. mister gerson said you have some skill with machinery, and i'll be damned if you don't leave this ship with a few marketable uses for 'em once we're done with this little trip. make that dad of yours proud,” he encouraged, sliding both of his hands back into his pants’ pockets, and Frisk, her watery eyes brightening, felt her breath catch in her chest, heavy and numb.

She could hardly believe it. Was he serious?

“Really? You're gonna teach me?” she gasped, her mind spinning in circles like an over-excited hamster deprived of oxygen, and Sans, chuckling at her reaction, nodded curtly, juggling his pipe between his teeth idly.

“no sense in you just holding the flashlight, eh? you should put that space between your ears to use. now c'mon, get that bowl back up to the galley. you'll need your rest; we start early, before the break of dawn,” he directed, nodding his head down at the bowl she had left on the ground earlier, and Frisk, glowing with happiness and excitement, swooped down to grab it up without delay, somehow managing not to drop the spoon in her eagerness despite her shaking hands and her almost out of body joy.

This was such a fantastic stroke of luck. First-hand training, from an experienced, master level rocket engineer? This was the opportunity of a lifetime!

She made to charge past him, set on the skeleton monster’s instructions and determined not to screw them up, but skidded to a halt a few steps past him, turning on her heel to return to his side. He looked at her askance, raising a single brow, but she, with a burst of bravery, reached out and touched his arm for a moment, flushing more than she thought she would for such an innocent gesture.

“I… um. Thank you, Sans. Really. I... I'll see you in the morning!” she mumbled, tripping over her more than genuine words in her haste to escape this situation of her own making (what was  _ wrong _ with her? She had been practically in his arms earlier that day, and she hadn’t been this awful), before rushing off again, stomping down the ratway and up the stairs to the deck to breathe in the fresh, simulated air of the atmospheric bubble around the ship, eyes on the stars the galleon sailed through without a passing thought.

What a night. What a beautiful, beautiful night.

* * *

Sans couldn’t even watch her leave. He watched the shadows flicker on the wall across the hall from him, watched the smoke rise from his pipe, twisting in shapes unknown to man or monster or outworlder alike… twisting like his soul was twisting now, wracked with guilt like he’d never known before.

“...don't thank me yet, sugar.”

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! More to come soon!


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